






IJ« V« 


‘IMU, 










Hiiaii 


mnii 

;»UJUt:r 


■HltJU}? 

I** J 




HiiHImiS; 








.•Jjjllfjjt 


iHKfiUjflf 




■.inrsnmv. 

■•jHKHTri-rj 


»tin.: 


;ritKri;Tll 


t/M- 




IS2i 


Iriy^JnjiTtJrnirnf; 


ft?Ull»t» 




'ittw 


iSiifii 






ijrtsKtliJiiiijjjjf;? rHHf 

























li 

{Jirt-v#*! 



m 




BrSnb;? 

























































































r 









Works of 

Ridgwell Cullum 

The Story of the Foss River 
Ranch $J.50 

The Hound from the North f.50 

L. C. PAGE & COMPANY 
New England Building 
Boston, Mass, 












“ AND EVERY NOW AND THEN IT WOULD CEASE ITS HEAL¬ 
ING OPERATION TO THROW UP ITS LONG MUZZLE AND 
EMIT ONE OF THOSE DRAWN-OUT HOWLS.” 


















M The Hound from M 
II the North |f 

By 

Ridgwell Cullum 

With Frontispiece and Cover Design by 

Charles Livingston Bull 






Boston^ L. C. Page & 
Company ^ MDCCCCIIII 

kIM 


0 


f\ 


/ 




Ho 


Copyright, jgo4 
By L. C. Page & Company 

(incorporated) 


All rights reserved 



Published September, 1904 


COLONIAL PRESS 

ElectrotyPed and Printed by C. H. Simonds Co, 
Boston, Mass., U. S. A. 




CONTENTS 


6q 




CXAff. 

I. 

IN THE MOUNTAINS . • 


• 


• 

rAGB 

I 

II. 

MR. ZACHARY SMITH 

• 


• 


15 

III. 

MR. ZACHARY SMITH SMOKES 


• 


• 

29 

IV. 

‘yellow booming-SLUMP IN 

GREY 

f 

• 


46 

V. 

THE RETURN OF THE PRODIGAL 

• 


• 

65 

VI. 

THE PROGRESSIVE EUCHRE PARTY 


• 


81 

VII. 

LESLIE GREY FULFILS HIS DESTINY 

• 


• 

98 

VIII. 

grey’s last WORDS 

• 


• 



IX. 

LONELY RANCH AT OWL HOOT 


• 


• 

133 

X. 

THE GRAVEYARD AT OWL HOOT . 


• 


157 

XI. 

CANINE VAGARIES 


• 


• 

181 

XII. 

THE BREAKING OF THE STORM 

• 


• 


202 

XIII. 

BLACKMAIL . . • 


• 


• 

226 

XIV. 

A STAB IN THE DARK 

• 


• 


240 

XV. 

THE MAGGOT AT THE CORE . 


• 


• 

257 

XVI. 

AN ECHO FROM THE ALASKAN 

MOUNTAINS 


273 

XVII 

THE LAST OF LONELY RANCH 


• 


• 

286 

XVIII. 

THE FOREST DEMON PURSUES 

• 


• 


306 

XIX. 

THE AVENGER • • 


• 


• 

321 


IN CONCLUSION • •' 

• 


• 


341 









THE 


HOUND FROM THE NORTH 

CHAPTER I 
IN THE MOUNTAINS 

A PALLID sun, low, gleaming just over a rampart 
of mountain-tops. Sundogs — heralds of stormy 
weather—fiercely staring, like sentries, upon either 
hand of the mighty sphere of light. Vast glaciers 
shimmering jewel-like in the steely light of the semi- 
Arctic evening. Black belts of gloomy pinewoods 
on the lower slopes of the mountains; the trees 
snow-burdened, but black with the darkness of night 
in their melancholy depths. The earth white ; snow 
to the thickness of many feet on all. Life none; not 
a beast of the earth, nor a fowl of the air, nor the 
hum of an insect. Solitude. Cold—grey, pitiless 
cold. Night is approaching. 

The hill ranges which backbone the American 
continent—the northern extremity of the Rocky 
Mountains. The barrier which confronts the traveller 
as he journeys from the Yukon Valley to the Alaskan 
seaboard. Land where the foot of man but rarely 
treads. And mid-winter, 

B 


€ 




2 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


But now, in the dying light of day, a man comes 
slowly, painfully into the picture. What an atom 
in that infinity of awful grandeur. One little life in 
all that desert of snow and ice. And what a life. 
The poor wretch was swathed in furs ; snow-shoes 
on his feet, and a long staff lent his drooping figure 
support. His whole attitude told its own tale of 
exhaustion. But a closer inspection, one glance into 
the fierce-burning eyes, which glowered from the 
depths of two cavernous sockets, would have added 
a sequel of starvation. The eyes had a frenzied look 
in them, the look of a man without hope, but with 
still that instinct of life burning in his brain. Every 
now and again he raised one mitted hand and 
pressed it to nose and cheeks. He knew his face 
was frozen, but he had no desire to stop to thaw 
it out He was beyond such trifles. His upturned 
storm-collar had become massed with icicles about 
his mouth, and the fur was frozen solidly to his chin 
whisker, but he gave the matter no heed. 

The man tottered on, still onward with the dogged 
persistence which the inborn love of life inspires. 
He longed to rest, to seat himself upon the snow 
just where he happened to be, to indulge that craving 
for sleep which was upon him. His state of ex¬ 
haustion fostered these feelings, and only his brain 
fought for him and clung to life. He knew what 
that drowsy sensation meant He was slowly freez¬ 
ing. To rest meant sleep—to sleep meant death. 

Slowly he dragged himself up the inclining ledge 
he was traversing. The path was low at the base 
of one of the loftiest crags. It wound its way up¬ 
wards in such a fashion that he could see little more 


IN THE MOUNTAINS 


S 


than fifty yards ahead of him ere it turned away to 
the left as it skirted the hill. He was using his last 
reserve of strength, and he knew it. At the top he 
stood half dazed. The mountain rose sheer up to 
dizzy heights on one side, and a precipice was on the 
other. He turned his dreadful eyes this way and 
that Then he scanned the prospect before him—a 
haze of dimly-outlined mountains. He glanced back, 
tracing his uneven tracks until they disappeared in 
the grey evening light Then he turned back again 
to a contemplation of what lay before him. Suddenly 
his staff slipped from his hand as though he no 
longer had the strength to grip it Then, raising his 
arms aloft, he gave vent to one despairing cry in which 
was expressed all the pent-up agony of his soul. It 
was the cry of one from whom all hope had gone. 

“ God ! God have mercy on me! I am lost—lost I ” 

The despairing note echoed and re-echoed among 
the hills. And as each echo came back to his dulled 
ears it was as though some invisible being mocked 
him. Suddenly he braced himself, and his mind 
obtained a momentary triumph over his physical 
weakness. He stooped to recover his staff. His 
limbs refused to obey his will. He stumbled. Then 
he crumpled and fell in a heap upon the snow. 

All was silent, and he lay quite still. Death 
was gripping him, and he knew it. Presently he 
wearily raised his head. He gazed about him with 
eyelids more than half closed. “ Is it worth the 
struggle ? ” he seemed to ask ; “ is there any hope.? 
He felt so warm, so comfortable out there in the 
bitter winter air. Where had been the use of* his 
efforts? Where the use of the gold he had so 


4 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


laboriously collected at the new Eldorado ? At the 
thought of his gold his spirit tried to rouse him from 
the sleep with which he was threatened. His eye¬ 
lids opened wide, and his eyes, from which intelli¬ 
gence was fast disappearing, rolled in their gaunt 
sockets. His body heaved as though he were about 
to rise, but beyond that he did not move. 

As he lay there a sound reached his numbed ears. 
Clear through the crisp night air it came with the 
keenness and piercing incision which is only obtained 
in the still air of such latitudes. It was a human 
cry: a long-drawn “whoop.’* Like his own cry, it 
echoed amongst the hills. It only needed such as 
this to support the inclinations of the sufferer’s will. 
His head was again raised. And in his wild eyes 
was a look of alertness—hope. He listened. He 
counted the echoes as they came. Then, with an 
almost superhuman effort, he struggled to his feet 
New life had come to him born of hope. His 
weakened frame answered to his great effort His 
heart was throbbing wildly. 

As he stood up the cry came to him again, nearer 
this time. He moved forward and rounded the bend 
in the path. Again the cry. Now just ahead of 
him. He answered it with joy in his tone and 
shambled on. Now two dark figures loomed up in 
the grey twilight. They were moving swiftly along 
the ledge towards him. They cried out something 
in a foreign tongue. He did not understand, but 
his joy was no less. They came up, and he saw 
before him the short, stout figures of two fur-clad 
Eskimos. He was saved. 


IN THE MOUNTAINS 


S 


Inside a small dugout a dingy oil lamp shed its 
murky rays upon squalid surroundings. The place 
was reeking with the offensive odours exhaled from 
the burning oil. The atmosphere was stifling. 

There were four occupants of this abode, and, 
stretched in various attitudes on dusty blankets 
spread upon the ground, they presented a strange 
picture. Two of these were Eskimos. The broad, 
flat faces, sharp noses, and heavy lips were un¬ 
mistakable, as were their dusky, greasy skins and 
squat figures. A third man was something between 
the white-man and the redskin. He was in the nature 
of a half-breed, and, though not exactly pleasant to 
look upon, he was certainly interesting as a study. 
He was lying with limbs outstretched and his head 
propped upon one hand, while his gaze was directed 
with thoughtful intensity towards a small, fierce- 
burning camp-stove, which, at that moment, was 
rendering the hut so unbearably hot. 

His face was sallow, and indented with smallpox 
scars. He had no hair upon it, except a tuft or two 
of eyebrows, which the ravages of disease had con¬ 
descended to leave to him. His nose, which was his 
best feature, was beaky, but beautifully aquiline; 
but his mouth was wide, with a lower lip that sagged 
loosely from its fellow above. His head was small, 
and was burdened with a crown of lank black hair 
which had been allowed to grow Indian-like until it 
hung upon his shoulders. He was of medium height, 
and his arms were of undue length. 

The other occupant of the dugout was our traveller. 
He was stretched upon a blanket, on which was 
spread his fur coat; and he was alternating between 


6 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


the disposal of a bowl of steaming soup and groan¬ 
ing with the racking pains caused by his recently 
thawed-out frost-bites. 

The soup warmed his starving body, and his pain 
increased proportionately. In spite of the latter, how¬ 
ever, he felt very much alive. Occasionally he glanced 
round upon his silent companions. Whenever he 
did so one or the other, or both of the Eskimos were 
gazing stolidly at him. 

He was rather a good-looking man, notwithstand¬ 
ing his now unkempt appearance. His eyes were 
large—very large in their hollow sockets. His nose 
and cheeks were, at present, a mass of blisters from 
the thawing frost-bites, and his mouth and chin were 
hidden behind a curtain of whisker of about three 
weeks’ growth. There was no mistaking him for 
anything but an Anglo-Saxon, and a man of con¬ 
siderable and very fine proportions. 

When his soup was finished he set the bowl down 
and leaned back with a sigh. The pock-marked man 
glanced over at him. 

“ More ? ” he said, in a deep, not unmusical, tone. 

The half-starved traveller nodded, and his eyes 
sparkled. One of the Eskimos rose and re-filled the 
bowl from a tin camp-kettle which stood on the 
stove. The famished man took it and at once began 
to sup the invigorating liquid. The agonies of his 
frost-bites were terrible, but the pangs of hunger 
were greater. By and by the bowl was set down 
empty. 

The half-breed sat up and crossed his legs, and 
leant his body against two sacks which contained 
something that crackled slightly under his weight 


IN THE MOUNTAINS 


7 


“ Give you something more solid in an hour or so. 
Best not have it too soon/’ he said, speaking slowly, 
but with good enunciation. 

“ Not now ? ” said the traveller, in a disappointed 
tone. 

The other shook his head. 

“We’re all going to have supper then. Best wait.” 
Then, after a pause: “ Where from ? ’* 

“ Forty Mile Creek,” said the other. 

“You don’t say! Alone?” 

There was a curious saving of words in this man’s 
mode of speech. Possibly he had learned this method 
from his Indian associates. 

The traveller nodded. 

“ Yes.” 

“ Where to ? ” 

“ The sea-coast.” 

The half-breed laughed gutturally. 

“ Forty Mile Creek. Sea-coast. On foot Alone. 
Winter. You must be mad.” 

The traveller shook his head. 

“ Not mad. I could have done it, only I lost my 
way. I had all my stages thought out carefully. I 
tramped from the sea-coast originally. Where am I 
now ? ” 

The half-breed eyed the speaker curiously. He 
seemed to think well before he answered. Then— 

“ Within a few miles of the Pass. To the north.” 

An impressive silence followed. The half-breed 
continued to eye the sick man, and, to judge from 
the expression of his face, his thoughts were not 
altogether unpleasant. He watched the weary face 
before him until the eyes gradually closed, and, in 


8 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


spite of the burning pains of the frost-bites, ex¬ 
haustion did its work, and the man slept. He waited 
for some moments listening to the heavy, regular 
breathing, then he turned to his companions and 
spoke long and earnestly in a curious tongue. One 
of the Eskimos rose and removed a piece of bacon 
from a nail in the wall. This he placed in the 
camp-kettle on the stove. Then he took a tin billy 
and dipped it full from a bucket containing beans 
that had been set to soak. These also went into the 
camp-kettle. Then the fellow threw himself down 
again upon his blankets, and, for some time, the 
three men continued to converse in low tones. They 
glanced frequently at the sleeper, and occasionally 
gurgled out a curious throaty chuckle. Their whole 
attitude was furtive, and the man slept on. 

An hour passed—two. The third was more than 
half gone. The hut reeked with the smell of cooking 
victuals. The Eskimo, who seemed to act as cook, 
occasionally looked into the camp-kettle. The other 
two were lying on their blankets, sometimes con¬ 
versing, but more often silent, gazing stolidly before 
them. At length the cook uttered a sharp ejaculation 
and lifted the steaming kettle from its place on the 
stove. Then he produced four deep pannikins from 
a sack, and four greasy-looking spoons. From another 
he produced a pile of biscuits. “ Hard tack,” well 
known on the northern trails. 

Supper was ready, and the pock-marked man leant 
over and roused the traveller. 

“ Food,” he said laconically, as the startled sleeper 
rubbed his eyes. 

The man sat up and gazed hungrily at the iron pot 


IN THE MOUNTAINS 


9 


The Indian served out the pork with ruthless hands. 
A knife divided the piece into four, and he placed 
one in each pannikin. Then he poured the beans 
and soup over each portion. The biscuits were placed 
within reach, and the supper was served. 

The sick man devoured his uncouth food with great 
relish. The soup which had been first given him had 
done him much good, and now the “ solid ” completed 
the restoration so opportunely begun. He was a 
vigorous man, and his exhaustion had chiefly been 
brought about by lack of food. Now, as he sat with 
his empty pannikin in front of him, he looked grate¬ 
fully over at his rescuers, and slowly munched some 
dry biscuit, and sipped occasionally from a great 
beaker of black coffee. Life was very sweet to him 
at that moment, and he thought joyfully of the belt 
inside his clothes laden with the golden result of his 
labours on Forty Mile Creek. 

Now the half-breed turned to him. 

“Feeling pretty good?” he observed, conversa¬ 
tionally. 

“Yes, thanks to you and your friends. You must 
let me pay you for this.” The suggestion was coarsely 
put. Returning strength was restoring the stranger 
to his usual condition of mind. There was little 
refinement about this man from the Yukon. 

The other waived the suggestion. 

“ Sour-belly’s pretty good tack when y* can’t get 
any better. Been many days on the road ? ” 

“Three weeks.” The traveller was conscious of 
three pairs of eyes fixed upon his face. 

“ Hoofing right along?” 

•Yes. I missed the trail nearly a week back. 


lo THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


Followed the track of a dog-train. It came some 
distance this way. Then I lost it.” 

“ Ah! Food ran out, maybe.” 

The half-breed had now turned away, and was 
gazing at the stove as though it had a great fascina¬ 
tion for him. 

“Yes, I meant to make the Pass where I could lay 
in a fresh store. Instead of that I wandered on till I 
found the empty pack got too heavy, then I left it.” 

“Left it?” The half-breed raised his two little 
tufts of eyebrows, but his eyes remained staring at 
the stove. 

“Oh, it was empty—clean empty. You see, I 
didn’t trust anything but food in my pack.” 

“No. That’s so. Maybe gold isn’t safe in a 
pack ? ” 

The pock-marked face remained turned towards 
the glowing stove. The man’s manner was quite 
indifferent. It suggested that he merely wished to 
talk. 

The traveller seemed to draw back into his shell 
at the mention of gold. A slight pause followed. 

“ Maybe you ain’t been digging up there ? ” the 
half-breed went on presently. 

“ It’s rotten bad digging on the Creek,” the traveller 
said, clumsily endeavouring to evade the question. 

“ So I’ve heard,” said the half-breed. 

He had produced a pipe, and was leisurely filling 
it from a pouch of antelope hide. His two com¬ 
panions did the same. The stranger took his pipe 
from his fur coat pocket and cut some tobacco from 
a plug. This he offered to his companions, but it was 
rejected in favour of their own. 



IN THE MOUNTAINS 


II 


** The only thing IVe had—that and my fur coat— 
to keep me from freezing to death for more than four 
days. Haven’t so much as seen a sign of life since I 
lost the dog track.” 

“ This country’s a terror,” observed the half-breed 
emphatically. 

All four men lit their pipes. The sick man only 
drew once or twice at his, then he laid it aside. The 
process of smoking caused the blisters on his face to 
smart terribly. 

‘‘Gives your face gyp,” said the half-breed, sym¬ 
pathetically. “ Best not bother to smoke to-night.” 

He pulled vigorously at his own pipe, and the 
two Indians followed suit. And gradually a pleasant 
odour, not of tobacco but some strange perfume, 
disguised the reek of the atmosphere. It was 
pungent but delightful, and the stranger remarked 
upon it. 

“ What’s that you are smoking ? ” he asked. 

For one instant the half-breed’s eyes were turned 
upon him with a curious look. Then he turned back 
to the contemplation of the stove. 

“ Kind o’ weed that grows around these wilds,” he 
answered. “ Only stuff we get hereabouts. It’s good 
when you’re used to it.” He laughed quietly. 

The stranger looked from one to the other of his 
three companions. He was struck by a sudden 
thought. 

“ What do you do here ? I mean for a living ? 

“Trap,” replied the Breed shortly. 

“ Many furs about ? ” 

“ Fair.” 

“ Slow work,” said the stranger, indifferently. 


12 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


Then a silence fell. The wayfarer was getting 
very drowsy. The pungent odour from his com¬ 
panions’ pipes seemed to have a strangely soothing 
effect upon him. Before he was aware of it he caught 
himself nodding, and, try as he would, he could not 
keep his heavy eyelids open. The men smoked on 
in silence. Three pairs of eyes watched the stranger’s 
efforts to keep awake, and a malicious gleam was in 
the look with which they surveyed him. He was too 
sleepy to observe. Besides, had he been in condition 
to do so, the expression of their eyes would probably 
have been different. Slowly his head drooped for¬ 
ward. He was dreaming pleasantly already, although, 
as yet, he was not quite asleep. Now he no longer 
attempted to keep his eyes open. Further his head 
drooped forward. The three men were still as mice. 
Then suddenly he rolled over on one side, and his 
stertorous breathing indicated a deep, unnatural 
slumber. 

« « « • « 

The hut was in darkness but for a beam of light 
which made its way in through a narrow slit over the 
door. The sunlight shone down upon the huddled 
figure of the traveller, who still slept in the attitude 
in which he had rolled over on his fur coat when 
sleep had first overcome him. Otherwise the hut 
was empty. The half-breed and his companions had 
disappeared. The fire was out. The lamp had 

burned itself out. The place was intensely cold. 

Suddenly the sleeper stirred. He straightened 
himself out and turned over. Then, without further 
warning, he sat up and found himself staring up at 
the dazzling streak of light. 


IN THE MOUNTAINS 


13 


“Daylight,” he murmured; “and theyVe let the 
stove go out. Gee! but I Feel queer about the head.” 

Moving his head so that his eyes should miss the 
glare of light, he gazed about him. He was alone, 
and as he realized this he scrambled to his feet, and, 
for the moment, the room—everything about him— 
seemed to be turning topsy-turvy. He placed his 
hand against the post which supported the roof and 
steadied himself. 

“ I wonder where they are ? ” he muttered. “ Ah! 
of course,” as an afterthought, “ they are out at their 
traps. They might have stoked the fire. It’s perish¬ 
ing in here. I feel beastly queer ; must be the effects 
of starvation.” 

Then he moved a step forward. He brought up 
suddenly to a standstill. His two hands went to his 
waist. They moved, groping round it spasmodically. 
Undoing his clothes he passed his hand into his shirt. 
Then one word escaped him. One word—almost a 
whisper—but conveying such a world of fierce, horror- 
stricken intensity— 

“ Robbed! ” 

And the look which accompanied his exclamation 
was the look of a man whose mind is distracted. 

So he stood for some seconds. His lips moved, 
but no words escaped them. His hand remained 
within his shirt, and his fingers continued to grope 
about mechanically. And all the time the dazed, 
strained look burned in his great, roving eyes. 

It was gone. That broad belt, weighted down with 
the result of one year’s toil, gold dust and nuggets, 
was gone. Presently he seated himself on the cold 
iron of the stove. Thus he sat for an hour, looking 


14 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


straight before him with eyes that seemed to draw 
closer together, so intense was their gaze. And who 
shall say what thoughts he thought; what wild 
schemes of revenge he planned ? There was no out¬ 
ward sign. Just those silent moving lips. 


CHAPTER II 

MR. ZACHARY SMITH 

** Rot, man, rot! IVe been up here long enough 
to know my way about this devil’s country. No 
confounded neche can teach me. The trail forked at 
that bush we passed three days back. We’re all 
right. I wish I felt as sure about the weather.” 

Leslie Grey broke off abruptly. His tone was 
resentful, as well as dictatorial. He was never what 
one might call an easy man. He was always head¬ 
strong, and never failed to resent interference on the 
smallest provocation. Perhaps these things were in 
the nature of his calling. He was one of the head 
Customs officials on the Canadian side of the Alaskan 
boundary. His companion was a subordinate. 

The latter was a man of medium height, and from 
the little that could be seen of his face between the 
high folds of the storm-collar of his buffalo coat, he 
possessed a long nose and a pair of dark, keen, yet 
merry eyes. His name was Robb Chillingwood. The 
two men were tramping along on snow-shoes in the 
rear of a dog-train. An Indian was keeping pace 
with the dogs in front; the latter, five in number, 
harnessed in the usual tandem fashion to a heavily- 
laden sled. 


*5 


i6 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


*‘It*s no use anticipating bad weather,” replied 
Chillingwood, quietly. “But as to the question of 
the trail- 

“ There’s no question,” interrupted Grey, sharply. 

“ Ah, the map shows two clumps of bush. The trail 
turns off at one of them. My chart says the second. 
I studied it carefully. The ‘ confounded neche,’ as 
you call him, says ‘ not yet.’ Which means that he 
considers it to be the second bush. You say no.” 

“The neche only knows the trail by repute. You 
have never been over it before. I have travelled it 
six times. You make me tired. Give it a rest. 
Perhaps you can make something of those nasty, 
sharp puffs of wind which keep lifting the ground 
snow at intervals.” 

Robb shrugged his fur-coated shoulders, and glanced 
up at the sun. It seemed to be struggling hard to 
pierce a grey haze which hung over the mountains. 
The sundogs, too, could be. seen, but, like the sun 
itself, they were dim and glowed rather than shone. 
That patchy wind, so well known in the west of 
Canada, was very evident just then. It seemed to 
hit the snow-bound earth, slither viciously along the 
surface, sweep up a thin cloud of loose surface snow, 
then drop in an instant, but only to operate in the 
same manner at some other spot. This was going on 
spasmodically in many directions, the snow brushing 
up in hissing eddies at each attack. And slowly the 
grey mist on the hills was obscuring the sun. 

Robb Chillingwood was a man of some experience 
on the prairie, although, as his companion had said, he 
was new to this particular mountain trail. To his 
trained eye the outlook was not encouraging. 



MR. ZACHARY SMITH 


17 


“ Storm,” he observed shortly. 

“ That’s my opinion,” said Grey definitely. 

" According to calculations, if we have not got off 
the trail,” Chillingwood went on, with a sly look at 
his superior, “ we should reach Dougal’s roadside 
hostelry in the Pass by eight o’clock—well before 
dark. We ought to escape the storm.” 

“ You mean we shall,” said Grey pointedly. 

«If-” 

"Bunkum!” 

The two men relapsed into silence. They were 
very good friends these two. Both were used to 
the strenuous northern winter. Both understood the 
dangers of a blizzard. Their argument about the 
trail they were on was quite a friendly one. It was 
only the dictatorial manner of Leslie Grey which 
gave it the appearance of a quarrel. Chillingwood 
understood him, and took no notice of his somewhat 
irascible remarks, whilst, for himself, he remained of 
opinion that he had read his Ordnance chart aright. 

They tramped on. Each man, with a common 
thought, was watching the weather indications. As 
the time passed the wind “patches” grew in size, in 
force, and in frequency of recurrence. The haze upon 
the surrounding hills rapidly deepened, and the air 
was full of frost particles. A storm was coming on 
apace. Nor was Dougal’s wayside hostelry within 
sight 

“ It’s a rotten life on the boundary,” said Robb, as 
though continuing a thought aloud. 

“ It’s not so much the life,” replied Grey vindic¬ 
tively, " it’s the d-d red tape that demands the half- 

yearly journey down country. That’s the dog’s part 

c 



i8 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


of our business. Why can’t they establish a branch 
bank up here for the bullion and send all ‘ returns ’ by 
mail.? There is a postal service—of a kind. It’s a 
one-horsed lay out—Government work. There’ll come 
a rush to the Yukon valley this year, and when there’s 
a chance of doing something for ourselves—having 
done all we can for the Government—I suppose they’ll 
shift us. It’s the way of Governments. I’m sick of it. 
I draw four thousand dollars a year, and I earn every 
cent of it. You-” 

“ Draw one thousand, and think myself lucky if I 
taste fresh vegetables once a week during the summer. 
Say, Leslie, do you think it’s possible to assimilate 
the humble but useful hog by means of a steady diet 
of ‘ sour-belly ’ 

Grey laughed. 

“Ifthat were possible I guess we ought to make 

the primest bacon. Hallo, here comes the d-d 

neche. What’s up now, I wonder? Well, Rainy- 
Moon, what is it ? ” 

The Indian had stopped his dogs and now turned 
back to speak to the two men. His face was expres¬ 
sionless. He was a tall specimen of the Cree Indian. 

“ Ugh,” he grunted, as he came to a standstill. 
Then he stretched out his arm with a wide sweep in 
the direction of the mountains. “No good, white- 
men—coyote, yes. So,” and he pointed to the south 
and made a motion of running, “yes. Plenty beef, 
plenty fire-water. White-man store.” His face slowly 
expanded into a smile. Then the smile died out 
suddenly and he turned to the north and made a long 
‘soo-o-o-sh’ with rising intonation, signifying the rising 
wind. " Him very bad. White-man sleep—sleep. 




MR. ZACHARY SMITH 


19 

Wake—no.” And he finished up with a shake of the 
head. 

Then his arm dropped to his side, and he waited 
for Grey to speak. For a moment the Customs 
officer remained silent. Chillingwood waited anxious¬ 
ly. Both men understood the Indian’s meaning. 
Chillingwood believed the man to be right about 
the trail. As to the coming storm, and the prob¬ 
able consequences if they were caught in it, that 
was patent to all three. 

But Grey, with characteristic pig-headedness, gave 
no heed to the superior intelligence of the Indian 
where matters of direction in a wild country were 
concerned. He knew he was on the right trail. That 
was sufficient for him. But he surveyed the surround¬ 
ing mountains well before he spoke. They had 
halted in a sort of cup-like hollow, with towering sides 
surmounted by huge glaciers down which the wind 
was now whistling ^with vicious force. There were 
only two exits from this vast arena. The one by 
which the travellers had entered it, and the other 
directly ahead of them; the latter was only to be 
approached by a wide ledge which skirted one of the 
mountains and inclined sharply upwards. Higher up 
the mountain slope was a belt of pinewoods, close to 
which was a stubbly growth of low bush. This was 
curiously black in contrast with the white surround¬ 
ings, for no snow was upon its weedy branches and 
shrivelled, discoloured leaves. Suddenly, while Grey 
was looking out beyond the dog-train, he observed the 
impress of snow-shoes in the snow. He pointed to 
them and drew his companion’s attention. 

“ You see/’ he said triumphantly, “ there has been 


20 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


some one passing this way just ahead of us. Look 
here, neche, you just get right on and don’t let me 
have any more nonsense about the trail.” 

The Indian shook his head. 

“ Ow,” he grunted. “ This little—just little.” 
Then he pointed ahead. “Big, white—all white. 
No, no ; white-man no come dis way. Bimeby neche 
so,” and Rainy-Moon made a motion of lying down 
and sleeping. He meant that they would get lost and 
die in the snow. 

Grey became angry. 

“ Get on,” he shouted. And Rainy-Moon reluctantly 
turned and started his dogs afresh. 

The little party ascended the sloping path. The 
whipping snow lashed their faces as the wind rushed 
it up from the ground in rapidly thickening clouds. The 
fierce gusts were concentrating into a steady shriek¬ 
ing blast. A grey cloud of snow, thin as yet, but 
plainly perceptible, was in the air. The threat it con¬ 
veyed was no idle one. The terror of the blizzard 
was well known to those people. And they kne'» 
that in a short space they would have to seek wha* 
shelter they might chance to find upon these almost 
barren mountains. 

The white-men tightened the woollen scarves about 
the storm-collars of their coats, and occasionally 
beat their mitted hands against their sides. The 
gathering wind was intensifying the cold. 

“If this goes on we shall have to make that belt of 
pinewoods for shelter,” observed Robb Chillingwood 
practically. “ It won’t do to take chances of losing 
the dogs—and their load—in the storm. What say ? ” 

They had rounded a bend and Grey was watchfully 


MR. ZACHARY SMITH 


21 


gazing ahead. He did not seem to hear his com¬ 
panion’s question. Suddenly he pointed directly 
along the path towards a point where it seemed to 
vanish between two vast crags. 

“ Smoke,” he said. And his tone conveyed that he 
wished his companion to understand that he, Grey, 
had been right about the trail, and that Robb had 
been wrong. “That’s Dougal’s store,” he went on, 
after a slight pause. 

Chillingwood looked as directed. He saw the rush 
of smoke which, in the rising storm, was ruthlessly 
swept from the mouth of a piece of upright stove-pipe, 
which in the now grey surroundings could just be 
distinguished. 

“But I thought there was a broad, open trail at 
Dougal’s,” he said, at last, after gazing for some 
moments at the tiny smoke-stack. 

“ Maybe the road opens out here,” answered Grey 
weakly. 

But it didn’t. Instead it narrowed. And as they 
ascended the slope it became more and more precipi¬ 
tous. The storm was now beating up, seemingly from 
every direction, and it was with difficulty that the five 
great huskies hauled their burden in the face of it. 
However, Rainy-Moon urged them to their task with 
no light hand, and just as the storm settled down to 
its work in right good earnest they drew up abreast 
of a small dugout. The path had narrowed down to 
barely six feet in width, bordered on the left hand by 
a sharp slope upwards towards the pinewood belt 
above, and on the right by a sheer precipice ; whilst 
fifty feet further on there was no more path—just 
space. As this became apparent to him, Robb Chil- 


22 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


lingwood could not help wondering what their fate 
might have been had the storm overtaken them earlier, 
and they had not come upon the dugout. However, 
he had no time for much speculation on the subject, 
for, as the dogs came to a stand, the door of the dug- 
out was thrown back and a tall, cadaverous-looking 
man stood framed in the opening. 

“ Kind o’ struck it lucky,” he observed, without any 
great show of enthusiasm. “ Come right in. The 
neche can take the dogs round the side there,” 
pointing to the left of the dugout. “There’s a 
weatherproof shack there where I keep my kindling. 

Guess he can fix up in that till this d-d breeze 

has blown itself out. You’ve missed the trail, I take 
it. Come right in.” 

Half-an-hour later the two Customs officers were 
seated with their host round the camp-stove which 
stood hissing and spluttering in the centre of the 
hut. The dogs and Rainy-Moon were housed in the 
woodshed. 

Now that the travellers were divested of their 
heavy furs, their appearance was less picturesque but 
more presentable. Robb Chillingwood was about 
twenty-five ; his whole countenance indexed a sturdy 
honesty of thought and a merry disposition. There 
was considerable strength too about brow and jaw. 
Leslie Grey was shorter than his companion. A man 
of dapper, sturdy figure, and with a face good- 
looking, obstinate, and displaying as much sense of 
humour as a barbed-wire fence post. He was fully 
thirty years of age. 

Their host possessed a long, attenuated, but power¬ 
ful figure, and a face chiefly remarkable for its 


MR. ZACHARY SMITH 


23 

cadaverous hollows and a pair of hungry eyes and a 
dark chin-whisker. 

“Yes, sir,” this individual was saying, “she’s goin* 
to howl good and hard for the next forty-eight hours, 
or I don’t know these parts. Maybe you’re from the 
valley ? ” 

Chillingwood shook his head. 

“No. Fort Cudahy way,” he said. “My name’s 
Chillingwood — Robb Chillingwood. This is Mr. 
Leslie Grey, Customs officer. I am his assistant.” 

The long man glanced slowly at his guests. His 
great eyes seemed to take in the details of each man’s 
appearance with solemn curiosity. Then he twisted 
slowly upon the upturned box on which he was 
seated and crossed his legs. 

“ I’m pleased to meet you, gentlemen. It’s lonely 
in these parts—lonely.” He shuddered as though 
with cold. “ I’ve been trapping in these latitudes for 
a considerable period, and it’s—lonely. My name is 
Zachary Smith.” 

As the trapper pronounced his name he glanced 
keenly from one to the other of the two men beside 
him. His look was suggestive of doubt. He seemed 
to be trying to re-assure himself that he had never 
before crossed the paths of these chance guests of 
his. After a moment of apprehensive silence he 
went on slowly, like one groping in darkness. His 
confidence was not fully established. 

“ You can make up your minds to a couple of days 
in this shanty—anyhow. I mostly live on ‘ sour- 
belly ’ and ‘ hard tack.’ Don’t sound inviting, 
eh?” 

Chillingwood laughed pleasantly. 


24 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


“ Were Government officials,” he said with meaning. 

“Yes,” put in Grey. “But we’ve got plenty of 
canned truck in our baggage. I’m thinking you may 
find our supplies a pleasant change.” 

“No doubt—no doubt whatever. Cat’s meat would 
be a delicacy after—months of tallowy pork.” 

This slow-spoken trapper surveyed his guests 
thoughtfully. The travellers were enjoying the com¬ 
forting shelter and warmth. Neither of them seemed 
particularly talkative. 

Presently Grey roused himself. Extreme heat 
after extreme cold always has a somnolent effect on 
those who experience it. 

“ We’d best get the—stuff off the sleigh. Chilling- 
wood,” said he. “ Rainy-Moon’s above the average 
Indian for honesty, but, nevertheless, we don’t need 
to take chances. And,” as the younger man rose 
and stretched himself, “food is good on occasions. 
What does Mr. Zachary Smith say?” 

“ Ay, let’s sample some white-man’s grub. Gentle¬ 
men, this is a fortunate meeting—all round.” 

Chillingwood passed out of the hut. As he opened 
the door a vindictive blast of wind swept a cloud of 
snow in, and the frozen particles fell crackling and 
hissing upon the glowing stove. 

“And they call this a white-man’s country,”observed 
Mr. Smith pensively, as the door closed again. He 
opened the stove and proceeded to knock the embers 
together preparatory to stoking up afresh. 

“Guess you were making for the Pass,” he said 
conversationally. 

“Yes,” replied Grey. 

^ Missed the trail,” the other said, pitching a cord- 


MR. ZACHARY SMITH 


25 

wood stick accurately into the centre of the glowing 
embers. 

Grey made no answer. 

“’Tisn’t in the way of Governments to show con¬ 
sideration to their servants,” Mr. Smith went on, 
filling the stove with fuel to the limit of its holding 
capacity. “ It^s a deadly season to be forced to 
travel about in.” 

“ Consideration,” said Grey bitterly. " I’m forced 
to undertake this journey twice a year. Which 
means I am on the road the best part of my time. 
And merely because there is no bank or authorized 
place for depositing-” 

“ Ah, gold,” put in Mr. Zachary Smith quietly. 

“ And reams of ‘ returns.’ ” 

“ They reckon that the ‘ rush ’ to the Yukon ’ll come 
next year. Maybe things will alter then.” 

Smith straightened himself up from his occupation. 
His face displayed but the most ordinary interest in 
the conversation. 

At that moment Chillingwood returned bearing 
two small brass-bound chests. The Indian followed 
him bringing a number of packages of tinned food. 
Smith glanced from the chests—which were as much 
as Chillingwood could carry—to the angular pro¬ 
portions of the Indian’s burden, then back again to 
the chests. He watched furtively as the officer 
deposited the latter; then he turned back to the 
stove and opened the damper. 

Then followed a meal of which all three partook 
with that heartiness which comes of an appetite 
induced by a hardy open-air life. They talked but 
little while they ate, and that little was of the 


26 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


prospects of the new Eldorado. Leslie Grey spoke 
with the bitterness of a disappointed man. In reality 
he had been successful in the business he had adopted. 
But some men are born grumblers, and he was one. 
It is probable that had he been born a prince he 
would have loudly lamented the fact that he was not 
a king. Chillingwood was different; he accepted the 
situation and enjoyed his life. He was unambitious 
whilst faithfully doing that which he regarded as his 
duty, first to himself, then to his employers. His 
method of life was something like that of the sailor. 
He fully appreciated the motto of the seafaring 
gentry—one hand for himself and one for his 
employers. When in doubt both hands for self. 
He meant to break away from his present employ¬ 
ment when the Yukon “ rush ” came. In the meantime 
he was on the spot. Mr. Zachary Smith chiefly 
listened. He could eat and watch his guests. He 
could study them. And he seemed in no way 
inclined to waste his time on words when he could 
do the other two things. He said little about himself, 
and was mainly contented with comprehensive nods 
and grunts, whilst he devoured huge portions of 
tinned tongue and swallowed bumpers of scalding 
tea. 

After dinner the travellers produced their pipes. 
Grey offered his tobacco to their host. Mr. Zachary 
Smith shook his head. 

“ Given up tobacco—mostly,” he said, glancing in 
the direction of the door, which groaned under a 
sudden attack from the storm which was now howling 
with terrible force outside. “It isn’t that I don’t 
like it But when a man gets cooped up in these 


MR. ZACHARY SMITH 


27 


hills he's like to run out of it, and then it's uncom¬ 
fortable. IVe taken on a native weed which does me 
for smoking when I need it—which isn’t often. It 
grows hereabouts and isn’t likely to give out. Guess 
I won’t smoke now.” 

Grey shrugged and lit his pipe. If any man could 
be fool enough to reject tobacco, Leslie Grey was 
not the sort of man to press him. He was in¬ 
tolerant of ideas in any one but himself. Chilling- 
wood sucked luxuriously at his pipe and thought big 
things. 

The blue smoke clouds curled insinuatingly about 
the beads of the smokers, and rose heavily upon the 
dense atmosphere of the hut The two men stretched 
themselves indolently upon the ground, sometimes 
speaking, but, for the most part, silent These way¬ 
farers thought little of time. They had a certain 
task to perform which, the elements permitting, they 
would carry out in due course. In the meantime it 
was storming, and they had been fortunate in finding 
shelter in these wastes of snow and ice ; they were 
glad to accept what comfort came their way. This 
enforced delay would find a simple record in Leslie 
Grey’s report to his superiors. “ Owing to a heavy 
storm, etc.” They were Government servants. The 
routine of these men’s lives was all very monotonous, 
but they were used to it, and use is a wonderful 
thing. It so closely borders on content. 

Cards were produced later on. Mr. Zachary Smith 
resisted the blandishments of “cut-throat” euchre. 
He had no money to spare for gambling, he informed 
his guests ; he would look on. He sat over the stove 
whilst the others played. Later on the cards were 


28 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


put away, and the travellers, curling themselves into 
their blankets, composed themselves to sleep. 

The lean figure sat silently blinking at the red sides 
of the fire-box. His legs were crossed, and he nursed 
his knee in a restful embrace. For nearly an hour he 
sat thus, and only the slow movement of his great 
rolling eyes, and an occasional inclination of his head 
told of the active thought which was passing behind 
his mask-like features. 

As he sat there he looked older by half a score of 
years than either of his companions, but, in reality, 
he was a young man. The furrows and hollows upon 
his face were the marks of privation and exposure, 
not of age. His bowed figure was not the result of 
weakness or senility, it was chiefly the result of 
great height and the slouching gait of one who has 
done much slow tramping. Mr. Zachary Smith made 
an interesting study as he sat silently beside his 
stove. 

His face was the face of an honest man—when his 
eyes were concealed beneath their heavy lids. It was 
a good face, and refined; tough, vigorous, honest, 
until the eyelids were raised. Then the expression 
was utterly changed. A something looked out from 
those great rolling eyeballs which was furtive, watch¬ 
ful, doubtful. They were eyes one sometimes sees in 
a madman or a great criminal. And now, as he sat 
absorbed in his own reflections, their gaze alternated 
between the two brass-bound chests and the recumbent 
figure of Leslie Grey. 

So he sat, this self-styled Zachary Smith, trapper. 


CHAPTER III 


MR. ZACHARY SMITH SMOKES 

It was the third morning of the travellers* sojouni 
in Mr. Smith*s dugout. Two long idle days had been 
spent in the foetid atmosphere of the trapper’s half- 
buried house. During their enforced stay neither 
Grey nor his subordinates had learnt much of their 
reticent host It is doubtful if they had troubled 
themselves much about him. He had greeted them 
with a sort of indifferent hospitality, and they were 
satisfied. It was not in the nature of their work to 
question the characters of those whom they encountered 
upon their journey. To all that he had Mr. Zachary 
Smith had made them welcome ; they could expect 
no more, they needed no more. Now the day had 
arrived for their departure, for the storm had subsided 
and the sun was shining with all its wintry splendour. 

The three men leisurely devoured an early morning 
breakfast. 

Mr. Smith was quite cheerful. He seemed to be 
labouring under some strange excitement. He looked 
better, too, since the advent of his guests. Perhaps 
it was the result of the ample supplies of canned 
provisions which the two men had lavished unspar¬ 
ingly upon him. His face was less cadaverous; the 
39 


30 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


deep searing furrows were less pronounced. Alto¬ 
gether there was a marked improvement in this 
solitary dweller in the wild. Now he was discussing 
the prospects of the weather, whilst he partook liberally 
of the food set before him. 

“These things aren’t like most storms,” he said. 
“ They blow themselves out and have done with it. 
They don’t come back on you with a change of wind. 
That isn’t the way of the blizzard. We’ve got a clear 
spell of a fortnight and more before us—with luck. 
Now, which way may you be taking, gentlemen? are 
you going to head through the mountains for the 
main trail, or are you going to double on your 
tracks ? ” 

“We are going back,” said Grey, with unpleasant 
emphasis. Any allusion to his mistake of the road 
annoyed him. 

Chillingwood turned his head away and hid a 
smile. 

“ I think you will do well,” replied the trapper 
largely. “ I know these hills, and I should be inclined 
to hark back to where you missed the trail. I hope 
to cover twenty miles myself to-day.” 

“ Your traps will be buried, I should say,” suggested 
Robb. 

“I’m used to that,” replied the tall man quietly. 
“ Guess I shan’t have much difficulty with ’em.” He 
permitted himself the suspicion of a smile. 

Grey drew out his pipe and leisurely loaded it. 
Robb followed suit. Mr. Zachary Smith pushed his 
tin pannikin away from before him and leaned back. 

“ Going to smoke ? ” he asked. “ Guess I’ll join 
you. No, not your plug, thanks. I’m feeling pretty 


MR. ZACHARY SMITH SMOKES 31 

good. My weed ’ll do me. You don’t fancy to try 
it.?” 

“ T. and B.’s good enough for me,” said Grey, with 
a smile. “No, I won’t experiment.” 

Smith held his pouch towards Chillingwood. 

“ Can I ? ” 

Robb shook his head with a doubtful smile. 

“ Guess not, thanks. What’s good enough for my 
chief is good enough for me.” 

The trapper slowly unfolded an antelope-hide 
pouch of native workmanship. He emptied out a 
little pile of greenish-brown flakes into the palm of 
his hand. It was curious, dusty-looking stuff, sug¬ 
gestive of discoloured bran. This he poured into the 
bowl of a well-worn briar, the mouthpiece of which 
he carefully and with accuracy adjusted into the corner 
of his mouth. 

“Ifyou ever chance to have the experience I have 
had in these mountains, gentlemen,” he then went on 
slowly, as gathering into the palm of his hand a red- 
hot cinder from the stove he tossed it to and fro until 
it lodged on the bowl of his pipe, “ I think you’ll find 
the use of the weed which grows on this hillside,” with 
a jerk of his head upwards to indicate the bush which 
flourished in that direction, “ has its advantages.” 

“ Maybe,” said Grey contemptuously. 

“ I doubt it,” said Robb, with a pleasant smile. 

The lean man knocked the cinder from his pipe 
and emitted a cloud of pungent smoke from between 
his lips. The others had lit up. But the odour of the 
trapper’s weed quickly dominated the atmosphere, 
lie talked rapidly now. 

“You folks who travel the main trails don’t see 


32 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 

much of what is going on in the mountains—the real 
life of the mountains,” he said. “You have no con¬ 
ception of the real dangers which these hills contain. 
Yes, sir, they’re hidden from the public eye, and only 
get to be known outside by reason of the chance 
experience of the traveller who happens to lose his 
way, but is lucky enough to escape the pitfalls with 
which he finds himself surrounded. I could tell you 
some queer yarns of these hills.” 

“ Travellers’ tales,” suggested Grey, with a yawn and 
a disparaging smile. “ I have heard some.” 

“Yes,” said Robb, “there are queer tales afloat of 
adventures encountered by travellers journeying from 
the valley to the coast But they’re chiefly confined 
to wayside robbery, and are of a very sordid, every¬ 
day kind. No doubt your experiences are less matter- 
of-fact and more romantic. By Jove, I feel jolly 
comfy. Not much like turning out.” 

“ That’s how it takes me,” said Smith quietly, but 
with a quick glance at the speaker. “ But idleness 
won’t boil my pot. It’s a remarkable thing that I’ve 
felt wonderfully energetic these last few days, and 
now that I have to turn out I should prefer to stop 
where I am. I s’pose it’s human nature.” 

He gazed upon his audience with a broad smile. 

At that moment the loud yelping of the dogs pene¬ 
trated the thick sides of the dugout. Rainy-Moon 
was preparing for the start. Doubtless the brilliant 
change in the weather had inspired the savage burden- 
bearers of the north. 

“ That’s curious-smelling stuff you’re smoking,” said 
Grey, rousing himself with an effort after a moment’s 
dead silence. “ What do you call it ? ” 


MR. ZACHARY SMITH SMOKES 33 


“ Can’t say—a weed,” said Zachary Smith, glancing 
down his nose towards the bowl of his pipe. “ Not 
bad, is it ? Smells of almonds—tastes like nutty 
sherry.” 

Grey stifled a yawn. 

“ I feel sleepy, d-d sleepy. Wonder if Rainy- 

Moon has got the sleigh loaded.” 

Smith emitted another dense cloud of smoke from 
between his pursed lips; he seemed wrapt in the 
luxurious enjoyment of his smoke. Robb Chilling- 
wood’s eyelids were drooping, and his pipe had gone 
out. Quite suddenly the trapper s eyes were turned 
on the face of Grey, and the smoke from his pipe was 
chiefly directed towards him. 

“ There’s time enough yet,” he said quietly. “ Half- 
an-hour more or less won’t make much difference to 
you on the road. You were talking of travellers’ tales, 
and I reckon you were thinking of fairy yarns that 
some folks think it smart to spin. Well, maybe those 
same stories have some foundation in fact, and ain’t 
all works of imagination. Anyhow, my experience 
has taught me never to disbelieve until I’ve some good 
sound grounds for doing so.” 

He paused and gazed with a far-off look at the 
opposite wall. Then a shadowy smile stole over his 
face, and he went on. His companions’ heads had 
drooped slowly forward, and their eyes were heavy 
with sleep. Grey was fighting against the drowsiness 
by jerking his head sharply upwards, but his eyes 
would close in spite of his efforts. 

“ Well, I never thought that I’d get caught nap¬ 
ping,” continued Smith, with a chuckle. “ I thought 
I knew these regions well enough, but I didn’t 1 

D 


34 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


lost my way, too, and came near to losing my 
life-” 

He broke off abruptly as Robb Chillingwood 
slowly rolled over on his side and began to snore 
loudly. Then Smith turned back to Leslie Grey, and 
leaning forward, so that his face was close to that of 
the officer, blew clouds of the pungent smoke right 
across the half-stupefied man’s mouth and nostrils. 

“ I lost other things,” he then went on meditatively, 
“but not my life. I lost that which was more 
precious to me. I lost gold—gold ! I lost the result 
of many weary months of toil. I had hoarded it up 
that I might go down to the east and buy a nice little 
ranch, and settle down into a comfortable, respectable 
man of property. I didn’t even wait until the spring 
opened so that I could take the river route. No, 
that wasn’t my way, because I knew it would cost a 
lot of money and I wasn’t overburdened with wealth. 
I had just enough-” 

He puffed vigorously at his pipe. Grey’s head was 
now hanging forward and his chin rested on his chest 

There came the sound of Rainy-Moon’s voice 
adjuring the dogs outside the door of the dugout 
The trapper’s eyes flashed evilly in the direction of 
the unconscious Indian. 

“-to do what I wanted,” he resumed. “No 

more—no less ; and I set out on foot” He was 
anxiously watching for Grey’s collapse. “Yes, I was 
going to tramp to the sea-coast through these moun¬ 
tains. I hit the wrong trail, decoyed by a false track 
carefully made by those who waited for me in these 
hills.”—Grey was swaying heavily and his breathing 
was stertorous.— * I met my fate and was robbed of 





MR. ZACHARY SMITH SMOKES 35 


my gold. I was drugged—as you poor fools are 
being drugged now. When it was too late I dis¬ 
covered how it was done, and determined to do the 
same thing by the first victim that fell into my 
clutches. I tried the weed and soon got used to its 
fumes. Then I waited—waited. I had set my decoy 
at the cross-roads, and you—you—came.” 

As the trapper ceased speaking Grey slowly rolled 
over, insensible. 

In a moment the watching man was upon his feet. 
His whole face was transfigured. Alertness was in 
every movement, in every flash of his great eyes. 
He moved quickly across the floor of the hut and 
took two shallow pannikins from the sack which lay 
upon the floor, dropped some of the flaky weed into 
the bottom of each one, and then from the stove he 
scraped some coals of fire into them. The fire set 
the dry weed smouldering, and the thick smoke rose 
heavily from the two tins. These he placed upon the 
ground in such a position that his hard-breathing 
victims should thoroughly inhale the fumes. Thus 
he would make doubly sure of them. 

This done he stood erect and gazed for some 
seconds at the result of his handiwork; he was 
satisfied, but there was no look of pleasure on his 
face. He did not look like a man of naturally criminal 
instincts. There was nothing savage about his ex¬ 
pression, or even callous. His look merely seemed 
to say that he had set himself this task, and, so far, 
what he had done was satisfactory in view of his 
object. He turned from the heavy-slumbering men 
and his eyes fell upon the two small gold chests. 
Instantly his whole expression changed. Here was 


36 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


the keynote to the man’s disposition. Gold! It was 
the gold he coveted. At all costs that gold was to 
be his. His eyes shone with greed. He moved 
towards the boxes as though he were about to handle 
them; but he paused abruptly before he reached 
them. The barking of the dogs and the strident 
tones of the Indian’s voice outside arrested him. He 
suddenly remembered that he had not yet completed 
his work. 

Now he moved with unnecessarily stealthy steps 
over to the darkest corner of the hut, to where a pile 
of rough skins stood. The steady nerve which had 
hitherto served him seemed in a measure to have 
weakened. It was a phase which a man of his dis¬ 
position must inevitably pass through in the perpetra¬ 
tion of a first crime. He was assailed by a sensation 
of watching eyes following his every movement; 
with a feeling that another presence than those two 
slumbering forms moved with him in the dim light of 
the dugout. He was haunted by his other self; the 
moral self 

From beneath the pile of furs he drew a heavy 
revolver which he carefully examined. The chambers 
were loaded. 

Again came the sound of the dogs outside. And 
he even fancied he heard the shuffling of Rainy- 
Moon’s moccasins over the beaten snow just outside 
the door. He turned his face in the direction. The 
expression of his great hungry eyes was malevolent 
Whatever moral fear might have been his, there could 
be no doubt that he would carry his purpose out. 
He gripped his pistol firmly and moved towards the 
door. 


MR. ZACHARY SMITH SMOKES 37 


As his hand rested on the latch he paused. Just 
for one instant he hesitated. It seemed as though all 
that was honest in him was making one final appeal 
to the evil passions which swayed him. His eyelids 
lowered suddenly, as though he could not even face 
the dim light of that gloomy interior. It was the 
attitude of one who fully realizes the nature of his 
actions, of one who shrinks from the light of honest 
purpose and prefers the obscure recesses of his own 
moral darkness. Then with an effort he pulled him¬ 
self together; he gripped his nerve. The next 
moment he flung wide the door. 

A flood of wintry sunshine suffused the interior of 
the dugout. The glare of the crystal white earth was 
dazzling to a degree, and the hungry-looking trapper 
stood blinking in the light. His pistol was concealed 
behind him. The sleigh was before the door. Rainy- 
Moon stood on the far side of the path in the act of 
hitching the dogs up. One of the animals, the largest 
of them all, was already harnessed, the others were 
standing or squatting around, held in leash by the 
Indian. 

When he heard the door open Rainy-Moon looked 
up from his work. He was standing with his back to 
the precipice which bordered the narrow ledge. His 
great stolid face expressed nothing but solemn 
gravity. He grunted and turned again to his work. 

Like a flash the trapper s pistol darted from behind 
him, and its report rang out echoing and re-echoing 
amongst the surrounding hills. There was an answer¬ 
ing cry of pain from the harnessed dog, and Rainy- 
Moon with a yell stood erect to find himself gazing 
into the muzzle of the revolver. The expression of 


38 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


the trapper’s face was relentless now. His first shot 
had been fired under the influence of excitement, and 
he had missed his object and only wounded the dog. 
Now it was different. 

Again the pistol rang out Rainy-Moon gave one 
sharp cry of pain and sprang backwards—into space. 
In one hand he still gripped the leashes of the dogs. 
The other clutched wildly at the air. For one instant 
his fall was broken by his hold upon the four dogs, 
then the suddenness of his precipitation and his 
weight told, and the poor beasts were dragged over 
the side of the chasm after him. 

The whole dastardly act was but the work of a 
moment. 

The next all was silence save for the yelping of the 
wounded dog lying upon the snow. 

The trapper stood for a moment framed in the 
doorway. The horror of his crime was upon him. 
He waited for a sound to come up to him from below. 
He longed to, but he dared not, look over the side of 
the yawning chasm. He feared what awful sight his 
eyes might encounter. His imagination conjured up 
pictures that turned him sick in the stomach, and 
a great dread came over him. Suddenly he turned 
back into the hut and slammed the door. 

The wounded dog had not changed its attitude. 
The moments sped by. Suddenly the poor beast 
began to struggle violently. ‘ It was a huge specimen 
of the husky breed, exceptionally powerful and wolfish 
in its appearance. The wretched brute moaned 
incessantly, but its pain only made it struggle the 
harder to free itself from its harness. At length it 
succeeded in wriggling out of the primitive “ breast- 


MR. ZACHARY SMITH SMOKES 39 


draw ” which held it. Then the suffering beast 
limped painfully away down the path. Fifty yards 
from the hut it squatted upon its haunches and began 
to lick its wounded foot. And every now and then it 
would cease its healing operation to throw up its long 
muzzle and emit one of those drawn-out howls, so 
dismal and dispiriting, in which dogs are able to 
express their melancholy feelings. 

At length the hut door opened again and the 
trapper came out; he was equipped for a long journey. 
Thick blanket chaps covered his legs, and a great 
fur coat reached to his knees. His head was buried 
beneath a beaver cap, which, pressed low down over 
his ears, was overlapped by the collar of his coat. 
He carried a roll of blankets over his shoulder and 
a pack on his back. As he came out into the sun¬ 
shine he looked fearfully about him. There stood the 
loaded sleigh quite undisturbed. The harness alone 
was tumbled about by reason of the wounded dog’s 
struggles. And there was a pool of canine blood 
upon the snow, and a faint trail of sanguinary hue 
leading from it. The man eyed this and followed its 
direction until he saw the dog crouching down further • 
along the path. But he was not thinking of the dog. 
He turned back to the sleigh, and his eyes wandered 
across, beyond it, to the brink of the precipice. The 
only marks that had disturbed the smooth white edge 
of the path were those which had tumbled the snow 
where the dogs had been dragged to their fate. 
Otherwise there was no sign. 

The man stepped forward as though to look down 
to the depths below, but, as he neared the edge, he 
halted shudderingly. Nor did his eyes turn down- 


40 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


wards, he looked around him, above him—but not 
down. He gazed long and earnestly at the hard, 
cold, cloudless sky. His brow frowned with un¬ 
pleasant thought. Then his lips moved, and he 
muttered words that sounded as though he were 
endeavouring to justify his acts to himself. 

“ The gold was mine—honestly mine. It was 
wrested from me. It may be Christian to submit 
without retaliation. It is not human. What is a 
neche’s life—nothing. Pooh ! An Indian life is of 
no value in this country. Come on, let’s go.” 

He spoke as though he were not alone. Perhaps 
he was addressing that moral self of his which kept 
reminding him of his misdeeds. Anyhow, he was 
uncomfortable, and his words told of it. 

He stooped and adjusted his snow-shoes, after 
which he gripped his long staff and slowly began his 
journey down the hill. 

He quickly got into his stride, that forward, leaning 
attitude of the snow-shoer; nor did he glance to the 
left or right. 

Straight ahead of him he stared, over the jagged 
rampart of mountains to the clear steely hue of the 
sky above. He was leaving the scene of his crime ; 
he wished also to leave its memory. He gave no 
heed to the‘*trail of blood that stained the whiteness 
of the snow beneath his feet; his thoughts were not 
of the present—his present; his mind was travelling 
swiftly beyond. The whining of the dog as he passed 
him fell upon ears that were deaf to all entreaty. 

The crystal-covered earth glided by him ; the long, 
reaching stride of the expert snow-shoer bore him 
rapidly along. 


MR. ZACHARY SMITH SMOKES 41 

He paused in the valley below and took fresh 
bearings. He intended to strike through the heart of 
the mountains. The Pass was his goal, for he knew 
that there lay the main trail he sought. 

He cast about for the landmarks which he had 
located during his long tenancy of the dugout. Not 
a branch of a tree rustled. Not a breath of air 
fanned the steaming breath which poured from his 
lips. His mind was centred on his object, but the 
nervous realization of loneliness was upon him. 

Suddenly the awful stillness was broken. The 
man bent his head in a listening attitude. The 
sound came from behind and he turned sharply. 
His movement was hurried and anxious. His nerves 
were not steady. A long-drawn-out wail rose upon 
the air. Fifty yards behind stood the wounded hound 
gazing after him as if he, too, were endeavouring to 
ascertain the right direction. The creature was stand¬ 
ing upon three legs, the fourth was hanging useless, 
and the blood was dripping from the footless limb. 

The man turned away with an impatient shrug and 
stepped out briskly. He knew his direction now, and 
resolutely centred his thoughts upon his journey. 
Past experience told him that this would tax all his 
energy and endurance, and that he must keep a clear 
head, for he was not a native of the country, nor had 
he the instinct of one whose life had been passed in a 
mountainous world. Once he turned at the sound of 
a plaintive whining, and, to his annoyance, he saw 
that the dog was following him. A half-nervous 
laugh escaped him, but he did not pause. He had 
hitherto forgotten the creature, and this was an 
unpleasant reminder. 


42 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


An hour passed. The exhilarating exercise had 
cleansed the atmosphere of the murderer’s thoughts. 
Once only he looked back over his shoulder as some 
memory of the dog flashed across his brain. He 
could see nothing but the immaculate gleam of snow. 
Something of the purity of his surroundings seemed 
to communicate itself to his thoughts. He found 
himself looking forward to a life, the honest, respect¬ 
able life, which the burden he carried in his pack 
would purchase for him. He saw himself the owner 
of vast tracts of pasture, with stock grazing upon it, 
a small but comfortable house, and a wife. He 
pictured to himself the joys of a pastoral life, a 
community in which his opinions and influence would 
be matters of importance. He would be looked up 
to, and gradually, as his wealth grew, he would 
become interested in the world of politics, and he 
would- 

He was dragged back to the present by a memory 
of the scene at the dugout, and quite suddenly he 
broke into a cold perspiration. He increased his 
pace, nor did those pleasant visions again return to 
him. It was well past noon when at last he halted 
for food and rest. 

He devoured his simple fare ravenously, but he 
gained no enjoyment therefrom. He was moody. 
At that moment he hated life ; he hated himself for 
his weak yielding to the pricks of conscience ; he 
hated the snow and ice about him for their deadening 
effect upon the world through which he was passing ; 
he hated the dreadful solitude with which he was 
surrounded. 

Presently he drew out a pipe. He looked at it for 



MR. ZACHARY SMITH SMOKES 43 


one instant, then raised it to his nose. He smelt it, 
and, with a motion of disgust and a bitter curse, he 
threw it from him. It reeked of the weed he had 
found at the dugout. 

Now he was seized with a feverish restlessness 
and was about to rise to his feet. Suddenly, out 
on the still, biting air wailed the familiar long- 
drawn note of misery. To his disturbed fancy it 
came like a dreadful signal of some awful doom. 
It echoed in undulating waves of sound, dying 
away hardly, as though it were loth to leave its 
mournful surroundings. He turned in the direction 
whence it proceeded, and slowly into view limped 
the wounded husky, yelping piteously at every 
step. 

At that moment the man was scarcely responsible 
for what he did. He was beside himself with dread. 
The solitude was on his nerves, this haunting dog, his 
own reflections, all had combined to reduce him to 
the verge of nervous prostration. With the last 
dying sound his heavy revolver was levelled in the 
direction of the oncoming hound. There was a 
moment’s pause, then a shot rang out and the dog 
stood quite still. The bullet fell short and only 
kicked up the snow some yards in front of the 
animal, nor did the beast display the least sign of 
fear. The man prepared to take another shot, but, 
as he was about to fire, his arm dropped to his 
side, and, with a mirthless laugh, he put the pistol 
away. 

“ The d-d cur seems to know the range of a 

gun,” he muttered, with an uneasy look at the 
motionless creature. His words were an apolog)’ to 



44 the hound from THE NORTH 


himself, although perhaps he would not have ad¬ 
mitted it 

The dog remained in its rigid attitude. Its head 
was slightly lowered, and its wicked grey eyes glared 
ferociously. Its thick mane bristled, and it looked 
like a gaunt, hungry wolf following upon the trail of 
some unconscious traveller. So long as the man 
stood, so long did the dog remain still and silent. 
But as the former returned to his seat, and began to 
pack up, the dog began to whine and furtively draw 
nearer. 

Although he did not look up the man knew that 
the animal was coming towards him. When he had 
finished packing he straightened himself; the dog 
was within a few paces of him. He called gently, 
and the animal responded with a whimper, but re¬ 
mained where it was. Its canine mind was evidently 
dubious, and the man was forced to take the initiative. 
Whatever may have been his intention in the first 
place, he now exhibited a curious display of feeling 
for one who could plan and perpetrate so dastardly a 
crime as that which he had committed at the dugout. 
Human nature is a strange blending of good and evil 
passions. Two minutes ago the man would, without 
the least remorse, have shot the dog. Now as he 
reached him, and he listened to the beast’s plaintive 
cries, he stretched out his arm and stroked its 
trembling sides, and then stooped to examine the 
wounded limb. And, stranger still, he tore off a 
portion of the woollen scarf that circled his waist 
and proceeded to bandage up the shattered member. 
The dog submitted to the operation with languid 
resignation. The foot of one hind leg had been 


MR. ZACHARY SMITH SMOKES 45 


entirely torn away by a revolver shot, and only the 
stump of the leg was left. The poor beast would go 
on three legs for the rest of his life. 

When the man had finished he rose to his feet, and 
a bitter laugh shocked the silence of the snow-bound 
world. 

“There, you miserable cur. It's better like that 
than to get the cold into it. I've had some; besides, 
I didn’t intend to damage you. If you’re going to 

travel with me you’d best come along, and be d-d 

to you.” 

And he walked back to where his pack and blankets 
lay, and the dog limped at his heels. 


CHAPTER IV 

‘YELLOW BOOMING—SLUMP IN GREY* 

The days are long since gone when the name of 
the midland territory of the great Canadian world, 
Manitoba, suggested to the uninitiated nothing but 
Red Indians, buffalo and desperadoes of every sort 
and condition. Now-a-days it is well known, even 
in remote parts of the world, as one of the earth's 
greatest granaries ; a land of rolling pastures, golden 
cornfields and prosperous, simple farm folk. In a 
short space of time, little more than a quarter of a 
century, this section of the country has been elevated 
from the profound obscurity of a lawless wilderness 
to one of the most thriving provinces of a great 
dominion. The old Fort Garry, one of the oldest 
factories of the Hudson's Bay Company, has given 
place to the magnificent city of Winnipeg, with its 
own University, its own governing assembly, its 
own clubs, hotels, its own world-wide commercial 
interests, besides being the great centre of railway 
traffic in the country. All these things, and many 
other indications of splendid prosperity too numerous 
to mention, have grown up in a little over twenty-five 
years. And with this growth the buffalo has gone, 
the red-man has been herded on to a limited reserva- 
46 


‘YELLOW BOOMING' 


4T 

tion, and the “Bad-man” is almost an unknown 
quantity. Such is the Manitoba of to-day. 

But during the stages of Manitobans transition its 
history is interesting. The fight between law and 
lawlessness was long and arduous, the pitched battles 
many and frequent. Buffalo could be killed off 
quickly, the red-man was but a poor thing after the 
collapse of the Riel rebellion, but the “Bad-man” 
died hard. 

This is the period in the history of Manitoba which 
at present interests us. When Winnipeg was building 
with a rapidity almost rivalling that of the second 
Chicago, and the army of older farmers in the land 
was being hastily augmented by recruits from the 
mother country. When the military police had with¬ 
drawn their forces to the North-West Territories, 
leaving only detachments to hold the American 
border against the desperadoes which both countries 
were equally anxious to be rid of. 

In the remote south-eastern corner of the province, 
forty-five miles from the nearest town—which happened 
to be the village of Ainsley—dumped down on the 
crest of a far-reaching ocean-like swell of rolling 
prairie, bare to the blast of the four winds except for 
the insignificant shelter of a small bluff on its north¬ 
eastern side, stood a large farm-house surrounded by 
a small village of barns and outbuildings. It was a 
typical Canadian farm of the older, western type. 
One of those places which had grown by degrees 
from the one central hut of logs, clay and thatch to 
the more pretentious proportions of the modern frame 
building of red pine weather-boarding, with shingled 
roofing to match, and the whole coloured with paint 


48 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 

of a deep, port-wine hue, the points and angles being 
picked out with a dazzling white. It was a farm, let 
there be no mistake, and not merely a homestead. 

There were abundant signs of prosperity in the 
trim, well-groomed appearance of the place. The 
unmistakable hall-mark was to be found in the 
presence of a steam-thresher, buried beneath a cover¬ 
ing of tarpaulin and snow, in the array of farming 
machinery, and in the maze of pastures enclosed by 
top-railed, barbed-wire fencing. All these things, 
and the extent of the buildings, told of years of cease¬ 
less industry and thrift, of able management and a 
proper pride in the vocation of its owner. 

Nor were these outward signs in any way mis¬ 
leading. Silas Mailing in his lifetime had been 
one of those sound-minded men, unimaginative and 
practical, the dominant note of whose creed had 
always been to do his duty in that state of life in 
which he found himself. The son of an early pioneer 
he had been born to the life of a farmer, and, having 
the good fortune to follow in the footsteps of a thrifty 
father, he had lived long enough to see his farm grow 
to an extent many times larger and more prosperous 
than that of any neighbour within a radius of a 
hundred miles. But at the time of our story he had 
been gathered to his forefathers for nearly three years, 
and his worthy spouse, Hephzibah Mailing, reigned in 
his stead. She ruled with an equally practical hand, 
and fortune had continued to smile upon her. Her 
bank balance had grown by leaps and bounds, and 
she was known to be one of the richest women in 
Southern Manitoba, and her only daughter, Prudence, 
to be heiress to no inconsiderable fortune. There 


‘YELLOW BOOMING* 


49 


was a son in the family, but he had eschewed the farm 
life, and passing out of the home circle, as some 
sons will, had gone into the world to seek his own 
way—his own experiences of life. 

In spite of the wealth of the owners of Loon Dyke 
Farm they were very simple, unpretentious folk. 
They lived the life they had always known, abiding 
by the customs of childhood and the country to 
which they belonged with the whole-hearted regard 
which is now becoming so regrettably rare. Their 
world was a wholesome one which provided them 
with all they needed for thought, labour and recrea¬ 
tion. To journey to Winnipeg, a distance of a 
hundred and twenty-six miles, was an event which 
required two days’ preparation and as many weeks 
of consideration. Ainsley, one of those little border 
villages which dot the international boundary dividing 
Canada from the United States, was a place rarely 
visited by them, and when undertaken the trip was 
regarded as a notable jaunt. 

Just now Mrs. Mailing was a prey to the wildest 
excitement. An event was about to happen which 
disturbed her to a degree. It is doubtful as to what 
feeling was uppermost in her motherly bosom. She 
was torn between many conflicting emotions—^joy, 
grief, pleasurable excitement. Her daughter, her 
only child, as she was wont to confide to her matronly 
friends—for her boy, whom she loved as only a mother 
can love a son, she believed she would never see 
again—was about to be married. 

No visit to town, not even a sea voyage across the 
ocean could possibly compare with this. It was a 
more significant event in her life even than when she 

B 


so THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


/ 


went into Winnipeg to choose the monument which 
was to be erected over the grave of her departed 
Silas. That she had always had in her mind’s eye, 
not because she looked forward to his demise, but 
because she hoped some day to share with him its 
sheltering canopy. But somehow this forthcoming 
marriage of her daughter was in the nature of a shock 
to her. She was not mercenary, far from it, she was 
above any such motive as that, but she had hoped, 
when the time came for such matters to be con¬ 
sidered, that Prudence would have married a certain 
rancher who lived out by the Lake of the Woods, a 
man of great wealth, and a man whom Mrs. Mailing 
considered desirable in every way. Instead of that 
Prudence had chosen for herself amongst her many 
suitors, and worst of all she had chosen an insig¬ 
nificant official in the Customs department. That 
to Hephzibah Mailing was the worst blow of all. 
With proper motherly pride she had hoped that “her 
girl ” would have married a “ some one ” in her own 
world. 

The winter evening shadows—it was the middle of 
January and winter still held sway upon the prairie— 
were falling, and the parlour at the farm was enveloped 
in a grey dusk. The room was large, low-ceiled, and 
of irregular shape. 

It was furnished to serve many purposes, principally 
with a view to solid comfort. There was no blatant 
display of wealth, and every article of furniture bore 
signs of long though careful use. The spotless boarded 
floor was bare of carpet, but was strewn with rough- 
cured skins, timber-wolf, antelope, coyote and bear, 
and here and there rugs of undoubted home make; 


ViiJLJLUW iiOOMlNG 


51 


these latter of the patchwork order. The centre 
table was of wide proportions and of solid mahogany, 
and told of the many services of the apartment; the 
small chairs were old - fashioned mahogany pieces 
with horse-hair seats, while the easy-chairs—and 
there were several of these—were capacious and of 
divers descriptions. A well-worn sofa was stowed 
away in an obscure angle, and a piano with a rose- 
silk front and fretwork occupied another of the many 
dark corners which the room possessed. 

The whole atmosphere of the place was of extreme 
comfort. The bare description of furniture conveys 
nothing, but the comfort was there and showed out 
in the odds and ends of family possessions which 
were in evidence everywhere—the grandfather’s clock, 
the sewing-mapchine, the quaint old oil-lamps upon 
the mantel-board over the place where the fire should 
have been but was not; the soft hangings and curious 
old family pictures and discoloured engravings; the 
perfect femininity of the room. In all respects it was 
a Canadian farm “ best parlour.” 

There were four occupants of the room. Two old 
ladies, rotund, and garbed in modest raiment of some 
sort of dark, clinging material, were gathered about 
the monster self-feeding stove, seated in arm-chairs 
in keeping with their ample proportions. One was 
the widow of the late Silas Mailing, and the other 
was the school-ma’am from the Leonville school- 
house. This good lady rejoiced in the name of 
Gurridge, and Mrs. Gurridge was the oldest friend 
of Hephzibah Mailing, a fact which spoke highly 
for the former good dame’s many excellent qualities. 
Hephzibah was not a woman to set her affections 


52 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


on her sex without good reason. Her moral stand¬ 
ard was high, and though she was ever ready to 
show kindliness to her fellow-creatures, she was 
far too practical and honest herself to take to her 
motherly bosom any one who was not worthy of 
regard. 

As was natural, they were talking of the forth¬ 
coming marriage, and the tone of their lowered voices 
indicated that their remarks were in the nature of 
confidences. Mrs. Mailing was sitting bolt upright, 
and her plump, rather rough hands were folded in her 
broad lap. Mrs. Gurridge was leaning towards the 
stove, gazing into the fire through the mica sides of 
the fire-box. 

“ I trust they will be happy,” said Mrs. Gurridge, 
with a sigh. Then as an after-thought: “ He seems 
all right.” 

“Yes,” Mrs. Mailing said, with a responsive exhala¬ 
tion, “ I think so. He has few faults. But he is not 
the man to follow my Silas on this farm. I truly 
believe, Sarah, that he couldn’t tell the difference 
between a cabbage-field and a potato-patch. These 
what-d’you-call-’ems. Civil servants, are only fit to 
tot up figures and play around with a woman’s ward¬ 
robe every time she crosses the border. Thank 
goodness I’m not of the travelling kind ; I’m sure I 
should hide my face for very shame every time I saw 
a Customs officer.” 

The round, rosy face of the farm-wife assumed a 
deeper hue, and her still comely lips were pursed into 
an indignant moue. Her smooth grey head, adorned 
by a black lace cap trimmed with pearl beads, was 
turned in the direction of the two other occupants of 


YELLOW BOOMING* 


53 

the room, who were more or less buried in the 
obscurity of a distant corner. 

For a moment she gazed at the dimly-outlined 
figure of a man who was seated on one of the horse¬ 
hair chairs, leaning towards the sofa on which 
reclined the form of her daughter, Prudence. His 
elbows were resting on his knees and his chin was 
supported upon his two clenched fists. He was 
talking earnestly. Mrs. Mailing watched him for 
some moments, then her eyes drifted to the girl, the 
object of her solicitude. 

Although the latter was in the shadow her features 
were, even at this distance, plainly discernible. 
There was a strong resemblance between mother and 
daughter. They were both of medium dark com¬ 
plexion, with strong colouring. Both were possessed 
of delightfully sweet brown eyes, and mouths and 
chins firm but shapely. The one remarkable differ¬ 
ence between them was in the nasal organ. While 
the mother’s was short, well-rounded, and what one 
would call pretty though ordinary, the girl’s was 
prominent and aquiline with a decided bridge. This 
feature gave the younger woman a remarkable 
amount of character to her face. Altogether hers was 
a face which, wherever she went, would inevitably 
attract admiring attention. Just now she was 
evidently teasing the man before her, and the mother 
turned back to the stove with a merry twinkle in her 
eyes. 

“ I think Prudence will teach him a few lessons,” 
she murmured to her friend. 

“ What—about the farm ? ’* 

“ Well, I wasn’t just thinking of the farm.” 


54 the hound from THE NORTH 


The two ladies smiled into each other’s faces. 

“She is a good child,” observed Mrs. Gurridge 
affectionately, after awhile. 

“ Or she wouldn’t be her father’s child.” 

“ Or your daughter, Hephzibah,” said Sarah 
Gurridge sincerely. 

The two relapsed into silence. The glowing coals 
in the stove shook lower and received augmentation 
from the supply above. Darkness was drawing on. 

Prudence was holding the Free Press out towards 
the dying light and the man was protesting. The 
latter is already known to us. His name was Leslie 
Grey, now an under-official of the Customs depart¬ 
ment at the border village of Ainsley. 

“ Don’t strain your eyes in this light, dear,” he was 
saying. “ Besides, I want to talk to you.” He laid his 
hand upon the paper to take it from her. But the 
girl quickly withdrew it out of his reach. 

“You must let me look at the personal column, 
Leslie,” she said teasingly, “ I just love it. What do 
you call it ? The ‘ Agony * column, isn’t it ? ” 

“ Yes,” the man answered, with some show of irri¬ 
tation. “But I want-” 

“Of course you do,” the girl interrupted. “You 
want to talk to me—very right and proper. But 
listen to this.” 

Grey bit his lip. Prudence bent her face close to 
the paper and read in a solemn whisper— 

“ ‘Yellow booming—slump in Grey’! Now I wonder 
what that means? Do you think it’s a disguised 
love message to some forlorn damsel in the east, or 
does it conceal the heartrending cry of a lost soul to 
some fond but angry parent?” Then, as the man 


‘YELLOW BOOMING 


55 


did not immediately answer, she went on with a 
pucker of thought upon her brow. “ ‘ Yellow *—that 
might mean gold. ‘ Booming *—ah, yes, the Kootenai 
mines, or the Yukon. There is going to be a rush 
there this year, isn’t there } Oh, I forgot,” with real 
contrition, “I mustn’t mention the Yukon, must I? 
That is where your disaster occurred that caused 
you to be banished to the one-horsed station of 
Ainsley.” 

“Not forgetting the reduction of my salary to the 
princely sum of two thousand dollars per annum,” 
Grey added bitterly. 

“ Never mind, old boy, it brought us together, and 
dollars aren’t likely to trouble us any. But let me 
get on with my puzzle. ‘ Slump in Grey.’ That’s 
funny, isn’t it? ‘Slump’ certainly has to do with 
business. I’ve seen ‘ Slump ’ in the finance columns 
of the Toronto Globe, And then ‘Grey.’ That’s 
your name.” 

“ I believe so.” 

“Um. Guess I can’t make much of it. Seems to 
me it must be some business message. I call it real 
disappointing.” 

“ Perhaps not so disappointing as you think, sweet¬ 
heart,” Grey said thoughtfully. 

“ What, do you understand it ? ” The girl at once 
became all interest 

“ Yes,” slowly, “ I understand it, but I don’t know 
that I ought to tell you.” 

“ Of course you must. I’m just dying of curiosity. 
Besides,” she went on coaxingly, “ we are going to be 
married, and it wouldn’t be right to have any secrets 
from me. Dear old Gurridge never lost an opportun- 


56 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


ity of firing sage maxims at us when I used to go to 
her school. I think the one to suit this occasion ran 
something like this— 

‘Secrets withheld ’twixt man and wife, 

Infallibly end in connubial strife.’ 

She always made her rhymes up as she went 
along. She’s a sweet old dear, but so funny.” 

But Grey was not heeding the girl’s chatter. His 
face was serious and his obstinate mouth was tight- 
shut. He was gazing with introspective eyes at the 
paper which was now lying in the girl’s lap. 
Suddenly he leaned further forward and spoke almost 
in a whisper. 

“ Look here, Prue, I want you to listen seriously to 
what I have to say. I’m not a man given to undue 
hopefulness. I generally take my own way in things 
and see it through, whether that way is right or 
wrong. So far I’ve had some successes and more 
failures. If I were given to dreaming or repining I 
should say Fate was dead against me. That last 
smasher I came in the mountains, when I lost the 
Government bullion, nearly settled me altogether, but, 
in spite of it all, I haven’t given up hope yet, and 
what is more, I anticipate making a big coup shortly 
which will reinstate me in favour with the heads of 
my department. My coup is in connection with the 
notice you have just read out from the ‘ Agony' 
column.” 

The girl nodded. She was quite serious now. 
Grey paused, and the ticking of the grandfather’s 
clock on the other side of the room pounded heavily 
in the twilight The murmur of the old ladies’ voices 


‘YELLOW BOOMING* 


57 


occasionally reached the lovers, but it did not inter¬ 
rupt them or divert their attention from their own 
affairs. 

“ That notice,’* Grey went on, “ has appeared at 
regular intervals in the paper, and is a message to 
certain agents from a certain man, to say that certain 
illicit work has been carried out. I have discovered 
who this man is and the nature of his work. It does 
not matter who he is or what the work ; in fact, it 
would be dangerous to mention either, even here; 
the point is that I have discovered the secret, and I, 
alone, am going to benefit by my discovery. I am 
not going to let any one share the reward with me. 
I want to reinstate myself with the authorities, and so 
regain my lost position, then no one will be able to 
say things about my marriage with you.” 

“No one had better say anything against you in my 
hearing, anyway, Leslie,” the girl put in quickly. 
“ Because I happen to be rich—or shall be—is no¬ 
thing to do with any one but myself. As far as I 
can see it will be a blessing. Go on.*' 

“No doubt it is as you say, dear,” the man pursued ; 
“but there are plenty of people unkind enough to 
believe that I am marrying you for your money. 
However, I am going to get this man red-handed, 
and, I tell you, it will be the greatest coup of my 
life.” 

“ I hope you will succeed, Leslie,” the girl said, her 
brown eyes fixed in admiration upon her lover. “Do 
you know, I never thought you were such a deter¬ 
mined fellow,” she added impulsively. “ Why, I can 
almost believe that you’d learn to farm if you took 
the notion.” 


58 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 

Grey’s sense of humour was not equal to the 
occasion, and he took her remark quite seriously. 

“ A man must be a fool if he can’t run a farm,” he 
said roughly. 

“Many folks labour under that mistake,” the girl 
replied. Then: “ Say, when are you going to do this 
thing.? ” 

“ Strangely enough, the critical moment will come 
two days after our marriage. Let’s see. This is 
Monday. We are to be married to-morrow week. 
That will make it Thursday week.” 

The girl sat herself up on the sofa, and her 
young face expressed dismay. 

“ Right in the middle of our honeymoon. Oh, 
Leslie!” 

“It can’t be helped, dearest. I shall only be away 
from you for that afternoon and the night. Think 
of what it means to me. Everything.” 

“ Ah, yes.” She sank back again upon the sofa. 
There was the faintest glimmer of a smile in the 
depths of her dark eyes. “ I forgot what it meant to 
you.” 

The unconscious irony of her words fell upon 
stony ground. 

Prudence Mailing was deeply in love with Leslie 
Grey. How few men fully appreciate the priceless 
treasure of a good woman’s regard. 

“ If I bring this off it means immediate promotion,” 
Grey went on, in his blindly selfish way. “ I must 
succeed. I hate failure.” 

“ They will take you off the border, then,” said the 
girl musingly. “ That will mean—leaving here.” 

“ Which also means a big step up.” 


‘YELLOW BOOMING* 


59 


“Of course—it will mean a big step up.” 

The girl sighed. She loved the farm ; that home 
which she had always known. She changed the 
subject suddenly. 

“It must be nearly tea-time. We are going to 
have tea early, Leslie, so that we can get through 
with it comfortably before the people come.” 

“ Oh yes, I forgot you are having a ‘ Progressive 
Euchre’ party to-night. What time does it begin? 
I mean the party.” 

“Seven o’clock. But you are going to stay to 
tea ? ” 

Grey glanced up at the yellow face of the grand¬ 
father’s clock and shook his head. 

“ Afraid not, little girl. Fve got some work to do 
in connection with Thursday week. I will drop in 
about nine o’clock. Who’re coming ? ” 

“Is it really necessary, this work ? ” There was a 
touch of bitterness in Prudence’s voice. But the next 
moment she went on cheerfully. She would not 
allow herself to stand in her lover’s way. “ The usual 
people are coming. It will be just our monthly 
gathering of neighbouring—mossbacks,” with a laugh. 
“ The Turners, the Furrers—Peter Furrers, of course ; 
he still hopes to cut you out—and the girls; old 
Gleichen and his two sons, Harry and Tim. And the 
Ganthorns from Rosebank and their cousins the 
Covills of Lakeville. And—I almost forgot him— 
mother’s flame, George I redale of Lonely Ranch.” 

“Is I redale coming? It’s too bad of you to have 
him here, Prue. Your mother’s flame—um, I like 
that. Why, he’s been after you for over three years. 
It’s not right to ask him when I am here, besides-” 


6 o THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


Grey broke off abruptly. Darkness hid the angry 
flush which had spread over his face. The girl knew 
he was angry. His tone was raised, and there was 
no mistaking Leslie Greys anger. He was very 
nearly a gentleman, but not quite. 

“ I think I have a perfect right to ask him, Leslie,** 
she answered seriously. “ His coming can make no 
possible difference to you. Frankly, I like him, but 
that makes no difference to my love for you. Why, 
you dear, silly thing, if he asked me from now till 
Doomsday I wouldn’t marry him. He’s just a real 
good friend. But still, if it will please you, I don’t 
mind admitting that mother insisted on his coming, 
and that I had nothing to do with it. That is why 
I call him mother’s flame. Now, then, take that 
ugly frown off your face and say you’re sorry.** 

Grey showed no sign of obedience; he was very 
angry. It was believed and put about by the busy- 
bodies of the district, that George Iredale had sought 
Prudence Mailing in marriage ever since she had 
grown up. He was a bachelor of close upon forty. 
One of those quiet, determined men, slow of speech, 
even clumsy, but quick to make up their minds, and 
endowed with a great tenacity of purpose. A man 
who rarely said he was going to do a thing, but 
generally did it These known features in a man who, 
up to the time of the announcement of Prudence’s 
engagement to Grey, had been a frequent visitor to 
the farm, and who was also well known to be wealthy 
and more than approved of by Mrs. Mailing, no 
doubt, gave a certain amount of colour to the belief of 
those who chose to pry into their neighbours’ affairs. 

“Anyway I don’t think there is room for both 


‘YELLOW BOOMING* 


6i 


Iredale and myself in the house,’* Grey went on 
heatedly. “ If you didn’t want him you should have 
put your foot down on your mother’s suggestion. I 
don’t think I shall come to night.” 

For one moment the girl looked squarely into her 
lover’s face and her pretty lips drew sharply together. 
Then she spoke quite coldly. 

“You will—or I’ll never speak to you again. You 
are very foolish to make such a fuss.” 

There was a long silence between the lovers. Then 
Grey drew out his watch, opened it, glanced at the 
time, and snapped it closed again. 

“ I must go,” he said shortly. 

Prudence had risen from the sofa. She no longer 
seemed to heed her lover. She was looking across 
the darkened room at the homely picture round the 
glowing stove. 

“ Very well,” she said. And she moved away from 
the man’s side. 

The two old ladies pausing in their conversation 
heard Grey’s announcement and the answer Prudence 
made. Sarah Gurridge leaned towards her com¬ 
panion with a confidential movement of the head. 
The two grey heads came close together. 

The school-ma’am whispered impressively— 

“‘Maid who angers faithful swain 

Will shed more tears and know mere pain 
Than she who loves and loves in vain.*” 

Hephzibah laughed tolerantly. Sarah’s earnestness 
never failed to amuse her. 

“ My dear,” the girl’s mother murmured back, when 
her comfortable laugh had gurgled itself out, “ yoiing 


62 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


folks must skit-skat and bicker, or where would be 
the making up ? La, Tm sure when I was a girl I 
used to tweak my poor Silas’s nose for the love of 
making him angry—Silas had a long nose, my dear, 
as you may remember. Men hate to be tweaked, 
especially on their weak points. My Silas was always 
silly about his nose. And we never had less than 
half-an-hour’s making up. I wonder how Prudence 
has tweaked Mr. Grey—I can’t bring myself to call 
him Leslie, my dear.” 

Prudence had reached her mother’s side. The two 
old heads parted with guilty suddenness. 

“ Oh, my dear,” exclaimed Mrs. Mailing, “ how you 
did startle me.” 

“ I’m sorry,mother,” the girl said, “but I wanted to 
tell you that Leslie is not coming to-night.” Prudence 
turned a mischievous face towards her lover. 

Mrs. Mailing wrinkled up her smooth forehead. 
She assumed an air of surprise. 

“ Why not, my child } ” 

“ Oh, because you have asked Mr. Iredale. Leslie 
says it isn’t right.” 

Prudence was still looking in her lover’s direction. 
He had his back turned. He was more angry than 
ever now. 

“My dears,” said her mother with an indulgent 
smile, “you are a pair of silly noodles. But Mr. 
Grey—I mean Leslie—must please himself George 
Iredale is coming because I have asked him. This 

house is yours to come and go as you like—er_ 

Leslie. George Iredale has promised to come to the 
cards to-night. Did I hear you say you were going 
ROW ? I should have taken it homely if you would 


‘YELLOW BOOMING• 63 

have stayed to tea. The party begins at seven, don’t 
forget.” 

Three pairs of quizzical eyes were fixed upon Grey’s 
good-looking but angry face. His anger was against 
Prudence entirely now. She had made him look 
foolish before these two ladies, and that was not 
easily to be forgiven. Grey’s lack of humour made 
him view things in a ponderous light. He felt most 
uncomfortable under the laughing gaze of those three 
ladies. 

However, he would not give way an inch. 

“Yes, I must go now,” he said ungraciously. “ But 
not on account of George I redale,” he added blunder¬ 
ingly. “'I have some important work to do- ** 

He was interrupted by a suppressed laugh from 
Prudence. He turned upon her suddenly, glared, 
then walked abruptly to the door. 

“Good-bye,” he exclaimed shortly, and the door 
closed sharply behind him. 

“ Why, Prudence,” said Mrs. Mailing, turning her 
round laughing face to her daughter and indicating 
the door. “ Aren’t you-” 

“ No, I’m not, mother dear,” the girl answered with 
a forced laugh. 

Sarah Gurridge patted her late pupil’s shoulder 
affectionately. But her head shook gravely as though 
a weight of worldly wisdom was hers. 

“ I don’t think he’ll stay away,” said the mother, 
with a tender glance in the girl’s direction. 

“ He hasn’t chin enough,” said Sarah, who prided 
herself upon her understanding of physiognomy. 

“ Indeed he has,” retorted Prudence, who heard the 
remark. 




64 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


Mrs. Mailing was right, Leslie Grey was not going 
to stay away. He had no intention of doing so. But 
his reasons were quite apart from those Hephzibah 
Mailing attributed to him. He wished to see George 
Iredale, and because of the man’s coming Grey would 
forego his angry desire to retaliate upon Prudence. 
He quite ignored what he was pleased to call his own 
pride in the matter. He would come because he had 
what he considered excellent reasons for so doing. 

Prudence lit the lamps and laid the table for tea. 
Her mother ambled off to the great kitchen as fast as 
her bulk would allow her. There were many things 
in that wonderful place to see to for the supper, and 
on these occasions Mrs. Mailing would not trust their 
supervision even to Prudence, much less to the hired 
girl, Mary. Sarah Gurridge remained in her seat by 
the stove watching the glowing coals dreamily, her 
mind galloping ahead through fanciful scenes of her 
own imagination. Had she been asked she would 
probably have stated that she was looking forward into 
the future of the pair who were so soon to be married. 

Prudence went on quietly and nimbly with her 
work. Presently Sarah turned, and after a moment’s 
intent gaze at the trim, rounded figure, said in her 
profoundest tone— 

“ ‘ Harvest your wheat ere the August frost; 

One breath of cold and the crop is lost.’” 

“Oh, bother—there, Pve set a place for Leslie,” 
exclaimed Prudence in a tone of vexation. “ What is 
that about ‘ frost ’ and ‘ lost ’ ? ” 

“ Nothing, dear, I was only thinking aloud.” And 
Sarah Gurridge relapsed into silence, and continued 
to bask in the warm glow of the stove. 


CHAPTER V 


THE RETURN OF THE PRODIGAL 

Grey strode away from the house in no very 
amiable frame of mind. A fenced-in patch, planted 
with blue-gums and a mass of low-growing shrubs, 
formed a sort of garden in front of the farm. 

This enclosure was devoid of all artistic effect, 
but in summer-time it served as a screen to break 
the rigour of the wooden farm-buildings. It was a 
practical but incongruous piece of man’s handiwork, 
divided down the centre by a pathway bordered with 
overlapped hoopings of bent red willow switches, 
which, even in winter, protruded hideously above the 
beaten snow. The path led to a front gate of 
primitive and bald manufacture, but stout and service¬ 
able, as was everything else about the farm. And 
this was the main approach to the house. * 

It was necessary for Grey, having taken his 
departure by the front door, to pass out through this 
gate in order to reach the barn where he had left his 
saddle-horse. He might have saved himself this 
trouble by leaving the house by the back door, which 
opened out directly opposite the entrance to the great 
barn. But he was in no mood for back doors; the 
condition of his mind demanded nothing less than a 
6s F 


66 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


dignified exit,'and a dignified exit is never compatible 
with a back door. Had he left Loon Dyke Farm in 
an amiable frame of mind, much that was to happen 
in his immediate future might have been different 

But the writing had been set forth, and there was 
no altering it. 

He walked with a great show of unnecessary 
energy. It was his nature to do so. His energy was 
almost painful to behold. Too much vigour and 
energy is almost worse than chronic indolence ; sooner 
or later people so afflicted find themselves in 
difficulties. 

It was more than a year since his misadventure in 
the mountains. He had suffered for his own wrong¬ 
headedness over that matter, but he had not profited 
by his experience ; he was incapable of doing so. His 
length of service and reputation for hard work had 
saved him from dismissal, but Chillingwood was less 
fortunate; subordinates in Government service gener¬ 
ally are less fortunate when their superiors blunder. 

However, Grey had outlived that unpleasantness. 
He was not the man to brood over disaster. Soon 
after he had been transferred to Ainsley the Town 
Clerkship fell vacant. He did what he could for 
Chillingwood, with the result that the younger man 
eventually secured the post, and thus found himself 
enjoying a bare existence on an income of $5CXD per 
annum. 

Halfway down the path Grey became aware of a 
horseman approaching the farm. The figure was 
moving along slowly over the trail from Ainsley. In 
the dusk'the horse appeared to be jaded; its head 
hung down, and its gait was ambling. The stranger 




THE RETURN OF THE PRODIGAL 67 


was tall, but beyond that Grey could see nothing, 
for the face was almost entirely hidden in the depths 
of the storm-collar of his coat. The officer looked 
hard at the new-comer. It was part of his work 
to know, at least by sight, every inhabitant of his 
district. This man was quite a stranger to him. 
The horse was unknown to him, and the fur coat was 
unfamiliar. In winter these things usually mark a 
man out to his acquaintances. The horse shows up 
against the snow, and the prairie man does not usually 
possess two fur coats. 

On the stranger’s first appearance Grey’s thoughts 
had at once flown to George Iredale, but now, as he 
realized that the man was unknown to him, his 
interest relaxed. However, he walked slowly on to 
the gate so that he might obtain a closer inspection. 
Horse and rider were about twenty-five yards off 
when Grey reached the gate, and he saw that they 
were followed at some distance by a great wolfish- 
looking hound. 

The evening shadows had grown rapidly. The 
grey vault of snow-clouds above made the twilight 
much darker than usual. Grey waited. The traveller 
silently drew up his horse, and for a moment sat 
gazing at the figure by the gate. All that was 
visible of his face was the suggestion of a nose and 
a pair of large dark eyes. 

Grey opened the gate and passed out. 

“ Evening,” said the horseman, in a voice muffled by 
the fur of his coat-collar. 

“ Good-evening,” replied Grey shortly. 

” Loon Dyke Farm,” said the stranger, in a tone less 
of inquiry than of making a statement. 


68 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


Grey nodded, and turned to move away. Then he 
seemed to hesitate, and turned again to the stranger. 
Those eyes! Where had he seen just such a pair of 
eyes before ? He tried to think, but somehow his 
memory failed him. The horseman had turned his 
face towards the house and so the great roving eyes 
were hidden. But Grey was too intent upon the 
business he had in hand to devote much thought to 
anything else. 

There was no further reason for remaining ; he had 
satisfied his curiosity. He would learn all about the 
stranger later on. 

He hurried round to the stables. When he had 
gone the stranger dismounted ; for a moment or two 
he stood with one hand on the gate and the other 
holding the horse’s reins, gazing after the retreating 
form of the Customs officer. He waited until the 
other had disappeared, then leisurely hitched his 
horse’s reins on to the fence of the enclosure, and, 
passing in through the gate, approached the house. 
Presently he saw Grey ride away, and a close observer 
might have detected the sound of a heavy sigh 
escaping from between the embracing folds of the fur 
collar as the man walked up the path and rapped 
loudly upon the front door with his mitted fist. The 
three-footed hound had closed up on his master, and 
now stood beside him. 

Prudence opened the door. Tea was just ready; 
and she answered the summons, half expecting to 
find that her lover had thought better of his ill- 
humour and had returned to share the evening meal. 
She drew back well within the house when she 
realized her mistake. The stranger stood for one 


THE RETURN OF THE PRODIGAL 69 


second as though in doubt; then his voice reached the 
waiting girl. 

“ Prudence, isn’t it?” 

The girl started. Then a smile broke over her 
pretty, dark face. 

Why, it’s Hervey—^brother Hervey. Here, 
mother,” she called back into the house. “Quick, 
here’s Hervey. Why, you dear boy, I didn’t expect 
you for at least a week—and then I wasn’t sure you 
would come. You got my letter safely then, and you 
must have started off almost at once—you’re a real 
good brother to come so soon. Yes, in here; tea is 
just ready. Take off your coat. Come along, 
mother,” she called out again joyously. “ Hurry; come 
as fast as you can; Hervey is here.” And she ran 
away towards the kitchen. Her mother’s movements 
were far too slow to suit her. 

The man removed his coat, and voices reached him 
from the direction of the kitchen. 

Dearie me, but, child, you do rush one about so. 
Where is heThere, you’ve left the door open ; and 
whose is that hideous brute of a dog ? Why, it looks 
like a timber-wolf. Send him out” 

Mrs. Mailing talked far more rapidly than she 
walked, or rather trotted, under the force of her 
daughter’s bustling excitement. Hervey went out 
into the hall to meet her. Standing framed in the 
doorway he saw his dog. 

“ Get out, you brute,” he shouted, and stepping 
quickly up to the animal he launched a cruel kick at 
it which caught it squarely on the chest. The beast 
turned solemnly away without a sound, and Hervey 
closed the door. 


70 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


The mother was the first to meet him. Her stout 
arms were outstretched, while her face beamed with 
pride, and her eyes were filled with tears of joy. 

“ My dear, dear boy,’' she exclaimed, smiling 
happily. Hervey made no reciprocal movement. 
He merely bent his head down to her level and 
allowed her to kiss his cheek. She hugged him 
forcefully to her ample bosom, an embrace from 
which he quickly released himself. Her words then 
poured forth in a swift, incoherent flow. “ And to 
think I believed that I should never see you again. 
And how you have grown and filled out. Just like 
your father. And where have you been all this time, 
and have you kept well? Look at the tan on his 
face. Prudence, and the beard too. Why, I should 
hardly have known you, boy, if I hadn’t 'a known 
who it was. Why, you must be inches taller than 
your father for sure—and he was a tall man. But 
you must tell me all about yourself when the folks 
are all gone to-night. We are having a party, you 
know. And isn’t it nice?—^you will be here for 
Prudence’s wedding-” 

“ Don’t you think we’d better go into the parlour 
instead of standing out here?” the girl interrupted 
practically. Her mother’s rambling remarks had 
shown no sign of cessation, and the tea was waiting. 
“ Hervey must be tired and hungry.” 

“ Well, I must confess I am utterly worn out,” the 
man replied with a laugh. “ Yes, mother, if tea is 
ready let’s come along. We can talk during the 
meal.” 

They passed into the parlour. As they seated 
themselves at the table, Sarah Gurridge joined them 


THE RETURN OF THE PRODIGAL 71 

from her place beside the stove. Hervey had not 
noticed her presence when he first entered the room, 
and the good school-ma’am, quietly day-dreaming, had 
barely awakened to the fact of his coming. Now she, 
too, joined in the enthusiasm of the moment. 

“ Ah, Hervey,” she said, with that complacent air 
of proprietorship which our early preceptors in¬ 
variably assume, “ you haven’t forgotten me, I know. 

‘ Though the tempest of life will oft shut out the past, 
The thoughts of our school-days remain to the last.*^ 

**Glad to see you, Mrs. Gurridge. No, I haven’t 
forgotten you,” the man replied. 

A slight pause followed. The women-folk had so 
much to say that they hardly knew where to begin. 
That trifling hesitation might have been accounted 
for by this fact. Or it might have been that Hervey 
was less overjoyed at his home-coming than were 
his mother and sister. 

Prudence was the first to speak. 

“ Funny that I should have set a place more than 
I intended at the tea-table,” she said, “and funnier 
still that when I found out what I’d done I didn’t 
remove the plate and things. And now you turn up.” 
She laughed joyously. 

Sarah Gurridge looked over in the girl’s direction 
and shook an admonitory forefinger at her. 

“ Mr. Grey, my dear—you were thinking of Mr. 
Grey, in spite of your lover’s tiff.” 

“ Who did you say ? ” asked Hervey, with a quick 
glance at Prudence. 

“Leslie Grey,” said his mother, before the. old 
school-ma’am could reply. “ Didn’t our Prudence tell 
you when she wrote? He’s the man she’s going to 


72 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


marry. I must say he*s not the man I should have 
set on for her; but she’s got her own ploughing to 
seed, and I’m not the one to say her ‘nay’ when she 
chooses her man.” 

Hervey busied himself with his food, nor did he 
look up when he spoke. 

“ That was Grey, I s’pose, I saw riding away as I 
came up ? Good, square-set chunk of a man.” 

“ Yes, he left just before you came,” said Prudence. 
“ But never mind about him, brother. Tell us about 
yourself. Have you made a fortune ? ” 

“ For sure, he must,” said their mother, gazing with 
round, proud eyes upon her boy, “for how else came 
he to travel from California to here, just to set his 
eyes on us and see a slip of a girl take to herself a 
husband ? My, but it’s a great journey for a boy to 
take.” 

“ Nothing to what I’ve done in my time,” replied 
Hervey. “ Besides, mother. I’ve got further to go 
yet. And as for sister Prudence’s marriage, I’m 
afraid I can’t stay for that.” 

“ Not stay ? ” exclaimed his mother. 

“ Do you mean it ? ” asked his sister incredulously. 

Sarah Gurridge contented herself with looking her 
dismay. 

“You see, it’s like this,” said Hervey. He had an 
uncomfortable habit of keeping his eyes fixed upon 
the table, only just permitting himself occasional 
swift upward glances over the other folk’s heads. 
“ When I got your letter. Prudence, I was just pre¬ 
paring to come up from Los Mares to go and see a 
big fruit-grower at Niagara. The truth is that my 
fruit farm is a failure and I am trying to sell it.” 


THE RETURN OF THE PRODIGAL 73 

“ My poor boy! exclaimed his mother; " and you 
never told me. But there, you were always as proud 
as proud, and never would let me help you. Your 
poor father was just the same; when things went 
wrong he wouldn’t own up to any one. I remember 
how we lost sixty acres of forty-bushel, No. i wheat 
with an August frost. I never learned it till we’d 
taken in the finest crop in the district at the next 
harvesting. But you didn’t put all your savings into 
fruit ? ” 

“ Tm afraid I did, mother, worse luck.” 

“All you made up at the Yukon goldfields?” 
asked Prudence, alarm in her voice. 

“ Every cent.” 

There followed a dead silence. 

“Then-” Mrs. Mailing could get no further. 

“ Tm broke—dead broke. And I’m going East to 
sell my land to pay off my debts. I’ve had an offer 
for it, and I’m going to clinch the deal quick. Say, 
I just came along here to see you, and I’m going on 
at once. I only got into Winnipeg yesterday. I 
rode out without delay, but struck the Ainsley trail, 
or I should have been here sooner. Now, see here, 
mother,” Hervey went on, as a woe-begone expression 
closely verging on tears came into the old dame’s 
eyes, “ it’s no use crying over this business. What’s 
done is done. I’m going to get clear of my farm 
first, and maybe afterwards I’ll come here again and 
we’ll talk things over a bit.” 

Prudence sat staring at her brother, but Hervey 
avoided her gaze. Mrs. Mailing was too heartbroken 
to speak yet. Her weather-tanned face had blanched 
as much as it was possible for it to do. Her boy had 



74 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


gone out upon the world to seek his fortune, and he 
had succeeded in establishing himself, he had written 
and told her. He had found gold in quantities in the 
Yukon valley, and now—now, at last, he had failed. 
The shock had for the moment crushed her; her boy, 
her proud independent boy, as she had been wont 
to consider him, had failed. She did not ask herself, 
or him, the reason of his failure. Such failure, she 
felt, must be through no fault of his, but the result of 
adverse circumstances. 

She never thought of the gambling-table. She 
never thought of reckless living. Such things could 
not enter her simple mind and be in any way 
associated with her boy. Hephzibah Mailing loved 
her son ; to her he was the king who could do no 
wrong. She continued to gaze blankly in the man’s 
direction. 

Sarah Gurridge alone of the trio allowed herself 
sidelong, speculative glances at the man’s face. She 
had seen the furtive overhead glances; the steady 
avoidance of the loving observation of his womankind. 
She had known Hervey as well, and perhaps just a 
shade better than his mother and sister had; and 
long since, in his childish school-days, she had detected 
a lurking weakness in an otherwise good character. 
She wondered now if he had lived to outgrow that 
juvenile trait, or had it grown with him, gaining 
strength as the greater passions of manhood 
developed ? 

After the first shock of Hervey’s announcement 
had passed, Mrs. Mailing sought refuge in the con¬ 
solation of her own ability to help her son. He must 
never know want, or suffer the least privation. She 


THE RETURN OF THE PRODIGAL 75 


could and would give him everything he needed 
Besides, after all, she argued with womanly feeling, 
now perhaps she could persuade him to Iook after the 
farm for her ; to stay by her side. He should be in 
no way dependent. She would install him as manager 
at a comfortable salary. The idea pleased her beyond 
measure, and it was with difficulty she could keep 
herself from at once putting her proposal into words. 
However, by a great effort, she checked her en¬ 
thusiasm. 

“Then when do you think of going East?” she 
asked, with some trepidation. “You won’t go at 
once, sure.” 

“ Yes, I must go at once,” Hervey replied promptly. 
“ That is, to-morrow morning.” 

“ Then you will stay to-night,” said Prudence. 

“Yes; but only to get a good long sleep and rest 
my horse. I’m thoroughly worn out. I’ve been in 
saddle since early this morning.” 

“Have you sent your horse round to the barn?” 
asked Sarah Gurridge. 

“ Well, no. He’s hitched to the fence.” The 
observing Sarah had been sure of it. 

Prudence rose from her seat and called out to the 
hired girl— 

“ Mary, send out and tell Andy to take the horse 
round to the barn. He’s hitched to the fence.” Then 
she came back. “You’ll join our party to-night, of 
course.” 

“Hoity, girl, of course not,” said their mother. 
“ How’s the lad going to get rest gallivanting with a 
lot of clowns who can only talk of ‘bowers’ and 
‘jokers’? You think of nothing but ‘how-de-doin’* 


76 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


with your neighbours since you’re going to be married. 
Things were different in my day. I’ll look after 
Hervey,” she continued, turning to her son. “You 
shall have a good night, lad, or my name’s not 
Hephzibah Mailing. Maybe you’ll tell me by and by 
what you’d like to do.” 

“ That’s right, mother,” replied Hervey, with an air 
of relief. “You understand what it is for a man to 
need rest. I’ll just hang around till the folks come, and 
then sneak off to bed. You don’t mind, Prue, do 
you ? I’m dead beat, and I want to leave at daybreak.” 

“ Mind ? ” answered Prudence ; “ certainly not, 

Hervey. I should have liked you to meet Mr. Grey, 
but you must get your rest.” 

“Sure,” added her mother, “and as for meeting 
Mr. Grey—well, your brother won’t sicken for want of 
seeing him. I’ll wager. Come along, Hervey, we’ll go 
to the kitchen ; Prudence has to get her best parlour 
ready for these chattering noodles. And, miss,” turn¬ 
ing to her daughter with an expression of pretended 
severity, “ don’t forget that I’ve got a batch o’ layer 
cakes in the ice-box, and you’ve not told me what you 
want in the way of drinks. La, young folks never 
think of the comforts. I’m sure I don’t know what 
you’ll do without your mother, girl. Some o* these 
times your carelessness will get your parties made a 
laughing-stock of. Come along, Hervey.” 

The old lady bustled out, bearing her son off in 
triumph to the kitchen. She was quite happy again 
now. Her scheme for her son’s welfare had shut out 
all thought of his bad news. Most women are like 
this; the joy of giving to their own is perhaps the 
greatest joy in the life of a mother. 


THE RETURN OF THE PRODIGAL 77 

In the hall they met the flying, agitated figure of 
the hired girl, Mary. 

“ Oh, please, ’m, there's such a racket going on by 
the bam. There's Andy an' the two dogs fighting 
with a great, strange, three-legged dog wot looks like 
a wolf. They're that mussed up that I don’t know. 
I'm sure.” 

“ It's that brute Neche of mine,” said Hervey, with 
an imprecation. ** It's all right, girl; I’ll go.” 

Hervey rushed out to the barn. The great three- 
legged savage was in the midst of a fierce scrimmage. 
Two farm dogs were attacking him. They were both 
half-bred sheep-dogs. One was making futile attempts 
to get a hold upon the stranger, and Neche was 
shaking the other as a terrier would shake a rat. 
And Andy, the choreman, was lambasting the intruder 
with the business end of a two-tine hay-fork, and 
shouting frightful curses at him in a strong American 
accent 

As Hervey came upon the scene, Neche hurled his 
victim from him, either dead or dying, for the dog lay 
quite still where it fell upon the snow. Then, im¬ 
pervious to the onslaught of the choreman, he seized 
the other dog. 

“ Come out of it, Andy,” cried Hervey. 

The hired man ceased his efforts at once, glad to be 
done with the savage. Hervey then ran up to the 
infuriated husky, and dealt him two or three terrible 
kicks. 

The dog turned round instantly. His fangs were 
dripping with blood, and he snarled fiercely, his 
baleful eyes glowing with ferocity. But he slunk 
when he recognized his assailant, allowing the 


78 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


second dog to run for its life, howling with canine 
fear. 

Andy went over to the dog that was stretched upon 
the snow. 

“Guess 'e’s done, boss,” he said, looking up at 
Hervey as the latter came over to his side. “Say, 
that’s about the slickest scrapper round these parts. 
Gee-whizz, ’e went fur me like the tail end o’ a 
cyclone when I took your plug to the barn. It was 
they curs that kind o’ distracted his attention. Mebbe 
thar’s more wolf nor dog in him. Mebbe, I sez.” 

“Yes, he’s a devil-tempered husky,” said Hervey. 
“ I’ll have to shoot him one of these days.” 

“ Wa’al, I do ’lows that it’s a mercy ’e ain’t got 
no more’n three shanks. Mackinaw 1 but he’s 
handy.” 

The four women had watched the scene from the 
kitchen door. Hervey came over to where they were 
standing. * 

“ I’m sorry, mother,” he said. “ Neche has killed 
one of your dogs. He’s a fiend for fighting. I’ve a 
good mind to shoot him now.” 

“No, don’t go for to do that,” said his mother. 
“We oughtn’t to have sent Andy to take your horse. 
I expect the beast thought he was doing right.” 

“ He’s a brute. Curse him ! ” 

Prudence said nothing. Now she moved a little 
away from the house and talked to the dog. He was 
placidly, and with no show of penitence, lying down 
and licking a laceration on one of his front legs. He 
occasionally shook his great head, and stained the 
snow with the blood which dripped from his fierce- 
looking ears. He paused in his operation at the 


THE RETURN OF THE PRODIGAL 79 


sound of the girl’s voice, and looked up. Her tone 
was gentle and caressing. Hervey suddenly called to 
her. 

‘‘Don’t go near him. He’s as treacherous as a 
dogone Indian.” 

“ Come back,” called out her mother. 

The girl paid no attention. She called again, and 
patted her blue apron encouragingly. The animal 
rose slowly to his feet, looked dubiously in her 
direction, then, without any display of enthusiasm, 
came slowly towards her. His limp added to his 
wicked aspect, but he came, nor did he stop until his 
head was resting against her dress, and her hand was 
caressing his great back. The huge creature seemed 
to appreciate the girl’s attitude, for he made no 
attempt to move away. It is probable that this was 
the first caress the dog had ever known in all his 
savage life. 

Hervey looked on and scratched his beard thought¬ 
fully, but he said nothing more. Mrs. Mailing went 
back to the kitchen. Sarah Gurridge alone had 
anything to say. 

“Poor creature,” she observed, in tones of deep 
pity. “ I wonder how he lost his foot. Is he always 
fighting ? A poor companion, I should say.” 

Hervey laughed unpleasantly. 

“ Oh, he’s not so bad. He’s savage, and all that. 
But he’s a good friend.” 

“Ah, and a deadly enemy. I suppose he’s very 
fond of you. He lets you kick him,” she added 
significantly. 

“ I hardly know—and I must say I don’t much 
care—what his feelings are towards me. Yes, he lets 


8 o THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


me kick him.” Then, after a pause, “ But I think he 
really hates me.” 

And Hervey turned abruptly and went back into 
the kitchen. He preferred the more pleasant atmo¬ 
sphere of his mother’s adulation to the serious 
reflections of Sarah Gurridge. 


CHAPTER VI 


THE PROGRESSIVE EUCHRE PARTY 

The Mailings always had a good gathering at their 
card parties. Such form of entertainment and 
dances were the chief winter amusement of these 
prairie-bred folks. A twenty-mile drive in a box- 
sleigh, clad in furs, buried beneath heavy fur robes, 
and reclining on a deep bedding of sweet-smelling 
hay, in lieu of seats, made the journey as comfortable 
to such people as would the more luxurious brougham 
to the wealthy citizen of civilization. There was 
little thought of display amongst the farmers of 
Manitoba. When they went to a party their primary 
object was enjoyment, and they generally contrived to 
obtain their desire at these gatherings. Journeys 
were chiefly taken in parties; and the amount of 
snugness obtained in the bottom of a box-sleigh 
would be surprising to those without such experience. 
There was nothing blas 4 about the simple country 
folk. A hard day’s work was nothing to them. They 
would follow it up by an evening’s enjoyment with 
the keenest appreciation; and they knew how to 
revel with the best 

The first to arrive at Loon Dyke Farm were the 
Furrers. Daisy, Fortune, and Rachel, three girls of 

8i G 


83 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


round proportions, all dressed alike, and of age rang¬ 
ing in the region of twenty. They spoke well and 
frequently; and their dancing eyes and ready laugh 
indicated spirits at concert pitch. These three were 
great friends of Prudence, and were loud in their 
admiration of her. Peter Furrer, their brother, was 
with them ; he was a red-faced boy of about seventeen, 
a giant of flesh, and a pigmy of intellect—outside of 
farming operations. Mrs. Furrer accompanied the 
party as chaperon—for even in the West chaperons 
are recognized as useful adjuncts, and, besides, enjoy¬ 
ment is not always a question of age. 

Following closely on the heels of the Furrers came 
old Gleichen and his two sons, Tim and Harry. 
Gleichen was a well-to-do “ mixed ” farmer — a 
widower who was looking out for a partner as staid 
and robust as himself. His two sons were less of the 
prairie than their father, by reason of an education at 
St. John’s University in Winnipeg. Harry was an 
aspirant to Holy Orders, and already had charge of a 
mission in the small neighbouring settlement of Lake¬ 
ville. Tim acted as foreman to his father’s farm; a 
boy of enterprising ideas, and who never hesitated to 
advocate to his steady-going parent the advantage of 
devoting himself to stock-raising. 

Others arrived in quick succession; a truly agricul¬ 
tural gathering. Amongst the latest of the early 
arrivals were the Ganthorns; mother, son, and 
daughter, pretentious folk of considerable means, and 
recently imported from the Old Country. 

By half-past seven everybody had arrived with the 
exception of George I redale and Leslie Grey. The 
fun began from the very first. 


THE PROGRESSIVE EUCHRE PARTY 83 

The dining-table had disappeared from the parlour, 
as had the rugs from the floor, and somehow a layer 
of white wax, like an incipient fall of snow, lay invit- 
ingly on the bare white pine boarding. And, too, it 
seemed only natural that the moment she came into 
the room ready for the fray, Daisy Furrer should 
make a rush for the ancient piano, and tinkle out 
with fair execution the strains of an old waltz. Her 
efforts broke up any sign of constraint; everybody 
knew everybody else, so they danced. This was the 
beginning; cards would come later. 

They could all dance, and right well, too. Faces 
devoid of the absorbing properties of powder quickly 
shone with the exercise; complexions innocent of all 
trace of pigments and the toilet arts glowed with a 
healthy hue and beamed with perfect happiness. 
There could be no doubt that Prudence and her 
mother knew their world as well as any hostess could 
wish. And it was all so easy; no formality, few 
punctilios to observe—just free-and-easy good- 
fellowship. 

Mrs. Mailing emerged from the region of the 
kitchen. She was a little heated with her exertions, 
and a stray wisp or two of grey hair escaping from 
beneath her quaint lace cap testified to her culinary 
exertions. She had been stooping at her ovens 
regardless of her appearance. She found her daughter 
standing beside the door of the parlour engaged in a 
desultory conversation with Peter Furrer. Prudence 
hailed her mother with an air of relief, and the 
monumental Peter moved heavily away. 

“ Oh, mother dear, it’s too bad of you,” exclaimed 
the girl, gazing at her critically. “ And after all the 


84 the hound from THE NORTH 


trouble I took with your cap! Look at it now. It’s 
all on one side, and your hair is sticking out like— 
like—Timothy grass. Stand still while I fix it.” 

The girl’s deft fingers soon arranged her mother 
afresh, the old lady protesting all the while, but 
submitting patiently to the operation. 

“ There, there; you children think of nothing but 
pushing and patting and tittivating. La, but one ’ud 
think I was going to sit down at table with a King or 
a Minister of the Church. Nobody’s going to look at 
me, child—until the victuals come on. Besides, what 
does it matter with neighbours ? Look at old Gleichen 
over there, bowing and scraping to Mrs. Ganthorn ; 
one would think it wasn’t his way to do nothing else. 
He’s less elaborate when he’s trailing after his plough. 
My, but I can’t abide such pretending. Guess some 
folks think women are blind. And where’s George 
Iredale? I don’t see him. Now there’d be some 
excuse for his doing the grand. He’s a gentleman 
born and bred.” 

“ Ah, yes, mother, we all know your weakness for 
Mr. Iredale,” replied Prudence, with an affectionate 
finishing pat to the grey old head. “But then he 
just wouldn’t ‘bow and scrape,’ as you call it, to 
Mrs. Ganthorn or anybody else. He’s not the sort 
for that kind of thing. He hasn’t come yet. I’ll 
bring him to you at once, dear, when he arrives,*' 
she finished up with a laugh. 

“You’re a saucy hussy,” her mother returned, with 
a chuckle. Then; “ But I’d have taken to him as 
a son. Girls never learn anything now-a-days until 
they’re married to the man they fancy.” 

“Nothing like personal experience, lady mother. 


THE PROGRESSIVE EUCHRE PARTY 85 

Did you ask any one’s advice when you married 
father ? 

“ That I didn’t for sure, child, but it was different. 
Your father, Silas, wasn’t the man to be put off with 
any notions. He just said he was going to marry 
me—and he did marry me. I was all sort of swept 
off my feet” 

“But still you chose him yourself,” persisted the 
girl, laughing. 

“ Well, maybe I did, child, maybe I did.” 

“ And j/ou didn’t regret your own choice, mother; 
so why should 1 ? ” 

“ Ah, it was different with me—quite different. 
Ah, there’s some one coming in.” Hephzibah Mailing 
turned as she spoke, glad to be able to change the 
subject. The front door was opened, and a fur-clad 
figure entered. “It’s George I redale,” she went on, 
as the man removed his cap and displayed a crown 
of dark-brown hair, tinged here and there with grey, 
a broad high forehead and a pair of serious eyes. 

“ Come along, George.” Mrs. Mailing bustled for¬ 
ward, followed by her daughter. “ I thought you 
couldn’t get, maybe. The folks are all dancing and 
dallying. You must come into the kitchen first and 
have something warm. It’s a cold night.” 

“ I meant to come earlier,” replied the new arrival, 
in a deep, quiet voice. “ Unfortunately, just as I 
was going to start, word was brought in to me that 
a suspicious-looking horseman was hovering round. 
You see my place is so isolated that any arrival has 
to be inquired into. There are so many horse-thieves 
and other dangerous characters about that I have to 
be careful. Well, I rode out to ascertain who the 


86 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


intruder was, but I lost him. That delayed me. 
How are you, and Prudence too? Why, it’s ages 
since I’ve seen either of you. Yes, something hot is 
always welcome after a long winter’s ride.” 

George Iredale had divested himself of his coat 
and over-shoes, and now followed his hostess to 
the kitchen. He was a man of considerable inches, 
being little short of six feet in height. He was 
powerfully built, although his clothes disguised the 
fact to a large extent, and his height made him look 
even slim. He had a strong, keen, plain face that 
was very large-featured, and would undoubtedly have 
been downright ugly but for an expression of kindly 
patience, not unmixed with a suspicion of amused 
tolerance. It was the face of a man in whom women 
like to place confidence, and with whom men never 
attempt to take liberties. He had, too, a charm of 
manner unusual in men living, the rough life of the 
prairie. 

The tinkling strains of the waltz had ceased, and 
Prudence went back to the parlour. She felt that 
it was high time to set the tables for “ progressive 
euchre.” It was past eight and Grey had not turned 
up. She began to think he intended carrying out 
his threat of staying away. Well, if he chose to do 
so he could. She wouldn’t ask him to do otherwise. 
She felt unhappy about him in spite of her brave 
thoughts. 

Her announcement of cards was hailed with de¬ 
light, and the guests departed with a rush to search 
the house for a sufficient number of small tables to 
cope with the requirements of the game. 

In the kitchen George Iredale was slowly sipping 


THE PROGRESSIVE EUCHRE PARTY 87 


a steaming glass of rye whisky toddy. He was 
seated in a rigid, high-backed arm-chair, well away 
from the huge cook-stove, at which Hephzibah 
Mailing was presiding. Many kettles and saucepans 
stood steaming upon the black iron top, and the 
occasional opening and shutting of the ovens told of 
dainties which needed the old farm-wife’s most 
watchful care. Mrs. Mailing’s occupation, however, 
did not interrupt her flow of conversation. George 
Iredale was a great favourite of hers. 

“ He’s like his poor father in some things,” she 
was saying, as she lifted a batch of small biscuits 
out of the oven and moved towards the ice-box with 
them. “ He never squealed about his misfortune to 
me. Not one letter did I get asking for help. He’s 
proud, is Hervey. And now I don’t know, Fm sure.” 

She paused with her hand on the open door of the 
refrigerator and looked back into the man’s face. 

“ Did he tell you any details of his failure ? What 
was responsible for it?” Iredale asked, poising his 
glass on one of the unyielding arms of his chair. 

No, that he didn’t, not even that,” in a tone of 
pride. “ He just said he’d failed. That he was 
‘ broke.’ He’s too knocked up with travelling—he’s 
come from Winnipeg right here—or you should hear 
it from his own lips. He never blamed no one.” 

«Ah—and you are going to help him, Mrs. 
Mailing. What are you going to do?” 

“That’s where I’m fixed some. Money he can 
have—all he wants.” 

Iredale shook his head gravely. 

“ Bad policy, Mrs. Mailing—until you know all the 
facts.” 


88 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


*‘What, my own flesh and blood, too? Well, 
there-** 

“ I mean nothing derogatory to your boy, believe 
me,” interrupted Iredale, as he noted the heightened 
colour of face and the angry sparkle that flashed 
in the good dame’s eyes. “ I simply mean that it 
is useless to throw good money after bad. Fruit 
farming is a lottery in which the prizes go to those 
who take the most tickets. In other words, it is a 
question of acreage. A small man may lose his 
crop through blight, drought, a hundred causes. 
The larger man has a better chance by reason of 
the extent of his crop. Now I should take it, you 
could do better for your son by obtaining all the 
facts, sorting them out and then deciding what to 
do. My experience prompts me to suggest another 
business. Why not the farm ? ” 

All signs of resentment had left Mrs. Mailing’s 
face. She deposited her biscuits and returned to the 
stove, standing before her guest with her hands 
buried deep in her apron pockets and a delighted 
smile on her face. 

“ That’s just what I thought at once,” she said. 
“You’re real smart, George; why not the farm ? I says 
that to myself right off. I couldn’t do better, I know, 
but there’s drawbacks. Yes, drawbacks. Hervey isn’t 
much for the petticoats—meaning his own folks. He’s 
not one to play second fiddle, so to speak. Now while 
I live the farm is mine, and I learned my business 
from one who could teach me—my Silas. Now I’d 
make Hervey my foreman and give him a good wage. 
He’d have all he wants, but he’d have to be my fore- 
naan,” The old lady shook her head dubiously. 


THE PROGRESSIVE EUCHRE PARTY 89 

“j^.nd you think Hervey wouldn’t accept a subord¬ 
inate position ? ” 

“ He’s that proud. Just like my poor Silas,” 
murmured the mother. 

“ Then he’s a fool. But you try him,” I red ale said 
dryly. 

“ Do you think he might ? ” 

“You never can tell.” 

“ I wonder now if you—yes, I’ll ask him.” 

“ Offer it to him, you mean.” George Iredale 
smiled quietly. 

“ Yes, offer it to him,” the old lady corrected her¬ 
self thoughtfully. “ But I’m forgetting my stewing 
oysters, and Mistress Prudence will get going on— 
for she had them sent up all the way from St. John’s 
—if they’re burned.” She turned to one of the kettles 
and began stirring at once. “ Hervey is coming back 
after he’s been to Niagara, and I’ll talk to him then. 
I wish you could have seen him before he went, but 
he’s abed.” 

“ Never mind, there’s time enough when he comes 
back. Ah, Prudence, how is the euchre ‘ progressing’?” 
Iredale turned as the girl came hurriedly in. 

“Oh, here you are. You two gossiping as usual. 
Mother, it’s too bad of you to rob me of my guests. 
But I came to ask for more lemonade.” 

“ Dip it out of yonder kettle, child. And you can 
take George off at once. It’s high time he got at the 
cards.” 

“He’s too late, the game is nearly over. He’ll 
have to sit out with Leslie. He, also, was too late. 
Come along, Mr. Iredale,”—she had filled the lemon¬ 
ade pitcher,—“ and, mother, when shall you be ready 


90 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


with the supper? Remember, you’ve got to come 
and give out the prizes to the winners before that.” 

“ Also to the losers,” put in I red ale. 

‘‘Yes, they must all have prizes. What time, 
mother ? ” 

“ In an hour. And be off, the pair of you. Mary ! 
Mary! ” the old lady called out, moving towards the 
summer kitchen. “ Bustle about, girl, and count down 
the plates from the dresser. La, look at you,” she 
went on, as the hired girl came running in; “ where’s the 
cap I gave you ? And for good-a-mussey’s sake go 
and scrub your hands. My, but girls be jades.” 

Iredale and Prudence went off to the parlour. The 
game was nearly over, and the guests were laughing 
and chattering noisily. The excitement was intense. 
Leslie Grey sat aloof. He was engaged in a pretence 
at conversation with Sarah Gurridge, but, to judge 
by the expression of his face, his temper was still 
sulky or his thoughts were far away. The moment 
Iredale entered the room Grey’s face lit up with 
something like interest. 

Prudence, accompanying the rancher, was quick to 
observe the change. She had been prepared for 
something of the sort, although the reason she assigned 
to his interest was very wide of the mark. She smiled 
to herself as she turned to reply to something Iredale 
had just said. 

The evening passed in boisterous jollification. And 
after the prizes had been awarded supper was served. 
A solid supper, just such a repast as these people 
could and did appreciate. The delicacies Mrs. 
Mailing offered to her guests were something to be 
remembered. She spared no pains, and even her 


THE PROGRESSIVE EUCHRE PARTY 91 


enemies, if she had any, which is doubtful, admitted 
that she could cook; such an admission amongst 
the prairie folks was a testimonial of the highest 
order. 

After supper George I redale, whose quiet manner 
and serious face debarred him from the revels of the 
younger men, withdrew to a small work-room which 
was usually set aside on these occasions for the use of 
those who desired to smoke. Leslie Grey, who had 
been talking to Mrs. Mailing, and who had been 
watching for this opportunity, quickly followed. 

He fondly believed that Iredale came to the farm 
to thrust his attentions upon Prudence. This was 
exasperating enough in itself, but when Grey, in his 
righteous indignation, thought of other matters 
pertaining to the owner of Lonely Ranch, his indig¬ 
nation rose to boiling pitch. He meant to have it 
out with him to-night. 

Iredale had already adjusted himself into a comfort¬ 
able chintz-covered arm-chair when Grey arrived upon 
the scene. A great briar pipe hung from the corner 
of his strong, decided mouth, and he was smoking 
thoughtfully. 

Grey moved briskly to another chair and flung 
himself into its depths with little regard for its age. 
Nor did he attempt to smoke. His mind was too 
active and disturbed for anything so calm and 
soothing. 

His first words indicated the condition of his 
mind. 

“Kicking up a racket in there,” he said jerkily, 
indicating the parlour. “Can’t stand such a noise 
when IVe got a lot to think about” 


92 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 

“ No.” Iredale nodded his head and spoke without 
removing the pipe from his mouth. 

“We are to be married to-morrow week—Prudence 
and I.” 

“ So I’ve been told. I congratulate you.” 

Iredale looked at his companion with grave eyes. 
They were quite alone in the room. He had met 
Grey frequently and had learned to understand his 
ways and to know his bull-headed methods. Now he 
quietly waited. He had a shrewd suspicion that the 
man had something unpleasant to say. Unconsciously 
his teeth closed tighter upon his pipe. 

Grey raised his eyebrows. 

“Thanks. I hardly expected it.” 

“And why not?” Iredale was smiling, his grey 
eyes had a curious look in them—something between 
quizzical amusement and surprise. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” the other retorted with a 
shrug. “ There is no telling how some men will take 
these things.” 

Iredale removed his pipe, and pressed the ash 
down with his little finger. The operation required the 
momentary lowering of his eyes from his companion’s 
face. 

“ I don’t think I understand you.” 

Grey laughed unpleasantly. 

“ There’s not much need of comprehension. If two 
men run after the same girl and one succeeds where 
the other fails, the successful suitor doesn’t usually 
expect congratulations from his unfortunate rival.” 

“ Supposing such to be the case in point,” Iredale 
replied quietly, but with an ominous lowering of his 
eyelids. “Markyou, I only say ‘supposing.’ I admit 


THE PROGRESSIVE EUCHRE PARTY 93 


nothing—to you. The less successful man may surely 
be honest enough, and man enough, to wish his rival 
well. I have known such cases among—men.” 

Grey twisted himself round in his chair and assumed 
a truculent attitude. 

** Notwithstanding the fact that the rival in question 
never loses an opportunity of seeking out the particular 
girl, and continuing his attentions after she is engaged 
to the other? That may be the way among—men. 
But not honest men.” 

The expression of Iredale’s face remained quite 
calm. Only his eyes—keen, direct-gazing eyes—lit 
up with an angry sparkle. He drew a little more 
rapidly at his pipe, perhaps, but he spoke quietly still. 
He quite understood that Grey intended forcing a 
quarrel upon him. 

“ I shall not pretend to misunderstand you, Grey. 
Your manner puts that out of the question. You are 
unwarrantably accusing me of a most ungentlemanly 
proceeding. Such an accusation being made by any 
one—what shall I say ?—more responsible than you, 
I should take considerable notice of; as it is, it is 
hardly worth my consideration. You are at best a 
blunderer. I should pause before I replied had I the 
misfortune to be you, and try to recollect where you 
are. If you wish to quarrel there is time and place 
for so doing.” 

Iredale’s words stung Leslie Grey to the quick. His 
irresponsible temper fairly jumped within him, his 
eyes danced with rage, and he could scarcely find 
words to express himself. 

“You may sneer as much as you like,” he at length 
blurted out, “ but you cannot deny that your visits to 


94 the hound from THE NORTH 


this house are paid with the object of addressing my 
affianced wife. You are right when you describe such 
conduct as ungentlemanly. You are no gentleman! 
But I do not suppose that the man who owns Lonely 
Ranch will feel the sting of being considered a—a— 
cad or anything else.” 

‘‘ Stop! ” I redale was roused, and there was no 
mistaking the set of his square jaw and the compres¬ 
sion between his brows. “You have gone a step too 
far. You shall apologize or-” 

“ Stop—eh ? You may well demand that I should 
—stop, Mr. George Iredale. Were I to go on you 
would have a distinctly bad time of it. But my 
present consideration is not with the concerns of 
Lonely Ranch, but only with your visits here, which 
shall cease from to-day out. And as for apologiz¬ 
ing for anything I have said. I’ll see you damned 
first.” 

There was a pause; a breathless pause. The two 
men confronted each other, both held calm by a 
strength which a moment ago would have seemed 
impossible in at least one of them. 

Grey’s face worked painfully with suppressed 
excitement, but he gripped himself. George Iredale 
was calm under the effort of swift thought. He was 
the first to break the silence, and he did so in a voice 
well modulated and under perfect control. But the 
mouthpiece of his pipe was nearly bitten through. 

“Now I shall be glad if you will go on. You 
apparently have further charges to make against me. 
I hardly know whether I am in the presence of a 
madman or a fool. One or the other, I am sure. 
You may as well make your charges at once. You 



THE PROGRESSIVE EUCHRE PARTY 93 


will certainly answer for all you have already said, so 
make the list of your accusations complete before- 

“You fool!” hissed Grey, goaded to the last 
extremity of patience. His headlong nature could 
not long endure restraint. Now his words came with 
a blind rush. 

“ Do you think Pd speak without being sure of 
my ground } Do you think, because other men who 
have occupied the position which is mine at Ainsley 
have been blind, that I am ? Lonely Ranch ; a fitting 
title for your place,” with a sneer. “Lonely! in 
neighbourhood, yes, but not as regards its owner. 
You are wealthy, probably the wealthiest man in 
the province of Manitoba; why, that alone should 
have been sufficient to set the hounds of the law on 
your trail. I know the secret of Lonely Ranch. I 
have watched day after day the notice you have 
inserted in the Free Press —‘Yellow booming—slump 
in Grey.’ Nor have I rested until I discovered your 
secret. I shall make no charge here beyond what I 
have said, but- 

He suddenly broke off, awakening from his blind 
rage to the fact of what he was doing. His mouth 
shut like a trap, and beads of perspiration broke out 
upon his forehead. His eyes lowered before the 
ironical gaze of his companion. Thus he sat for a 
moment a prey to futile regrets. His anger had 
undone him. The sound of a short laugh fell upon 
his ears, and, as though drawn by a magnet, his eyes 
were once more turned on the face of the rancher. 

“ I was not sure which it was,” said I redale dryly; 
“whether you were a fool or a madman. Now 
I know. I had hoped that it was madness. TL'^e 




96 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 

is hope for a madman, but none for a fool. Thank 
you, Grey, for the information you have supplied 
me with. Your folly has defeated your ends. Re¬ 
member this. You will never be able to use the 
‘Secret*—as you are pleased to call it—of Lonely 
Ranch. I will take good care of that. And now, as 
I hear sounds of people running up-stairs, we will 
postpone further discussion. This interview has been 
prolonged sufficiently—more than sufficiently for 
you.** 

I redale rose from his chair; to all appearance he 
was quite undisturbed. Grey’s condition was exactly 
the reverse. 

He, too, rose from his seat. There was a sound of 
some one approaching the door. Grey stepped up to 
his companion and put his mouth close to his ear. 

“Don’t forget that you cannot conceal the traces 
that are round your—ranch. Traces which are unmis¬ 
takable to those who have an inkling of the truth.” 

“ No, but I can take steps which will effectually 
nullify the exertions you have been put to. Remember 
you said I was wealthy. I am tired of your stupid 
long-winded talk.** 

Iredale turned away with a movement of disgust 
and irritation just as the door opened and Prudence 
came in. 

“ Ah, here you are, you two. I have been wonder¬ 
ing where you were all this time. Do you know the 
people are going home ? ** 

The girl ceased speaking abruptly and looked 
keenly at the two men before her. Iredale was 
smiling; Grey was gazing down at the stove, and 
apparently not listening to her. 


THE PROGRESSIVE EUCHRE PARTY 97 

Prudence saw that something was wrong, but she 
had no suspicion of the truth. She wondered ; then 
she delivered a message she had brought and dismissed 
I redale. 

“ Mother wants to see you, Mr. Iredale; something 
about Hervey.” 

“I will go to her at once.” And the owner of 
Lonely Ranch passed out of the room. 

The moment the door closed behind him the girl 
turned anxiously to her lover. 

“What is it, Leslie dear? You are not angry with 
me still ? ” 

The man laughed mirthlessly. 

“Angry? No, child. I wonder if I—no, better 
not. It’s time to be off. Give me a kiss, and I’ll say 
good-night.” 


CHAPTER VII 


LESLIE GREY FULFILS HIS DESTINY 

It was early morning. Early even for the staff of 
the Rodney House Hotel. And Leslie Grey was 
about to breakfast. The solitary waitress the hotel 
boasted was laying the tables for the eight-o’clock 
meal. The room had not yet assumed the spick- 
and-span appearance which it would wear later 
on. There was a suggestion of last night’s supper 
about the atmosphere; and the girl, too, who moved 
swiftly here and there arranging the tables, was still 
clad in her early morning, frowsy print dress, and her 
hair showed signs of having been hastily adjusted 
without the aid of a looking-glass. A sight of her 
suggested an abrupt rising at the latest possible 
moment. 

From the kitchen beyond a savoury odour of steak 
and coffee penetrated the green baize swing-door 
which stood at one end of the room. 

“Is that steak nearly ready ? ” asked Grey irritably, 
as the girl flicked some crumbs from the opposite end 
of his table on to the rfoor, with that deft flourish of a 
dirty napkin which waitresses usually obtain. 

She paused in her work, and her hand went up 
consciously to the screws of paper which adorned her 
front hair. 


LESLIE GREY FULFILS HIS DESTINY 99 


“ Yessir, it’ll be along right now” 

Then she continued to flick the table in other 
directions. 

“ I ordered breakfast for six o’clock. This is the 
slackest place I ever knew. I shall talk to Morton 
and see if things can’t be altered. Just go and rouse 
that cook up. I’ve got to make Leonville before 
two.” 

The girl gave a final angry flick at an imaginary 
crumb and flounced off in the direction of the kitchen. 
The next moment her shrill voice was heard address¬ 
ing the cook. 

“ Mr. Grey wants his breakfast—sharp, Molly. 
Dish it up. If it ain’t done it’s his look-out. There’s 
no pleasing some folks. I s’pose Mr. Chillingwood ’ll 
be along d’rectly. Better put something on for him 
or there’ll be a row. What’s that—steak? That 
ain’t no good for Mr. Robb. He wants pork chops. 
He never eats anything else for breakfast. Says he’s 
used to pork.” 

The girl returned to the breakfast room bearing 
Grey’s steak and some potatoes. Coffee followed 
quickly, and the officer attacked his victuals hungrily. 
Then Robb Chillingwood appeared. 

Leslie Grey was about to rate the girl for her 
remarks to the cook, but Robb interrupted him. 

“Well, how does the bridegroom feel?” he asked 
cheerily. 

“ Shut up ! ” 

“What’s the matter? Cranky on your wedding 
morning?” pursued the town clerk irrepressibly. 

“ I wish to goodness you’d keep your mouth shut 
Why don’t you go and proclaim my affairs from the 


loo THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


steps of your beastly Town Hall?” Grey glanced 
meaningly in the direction of the waitress standing in 
open-mouthed astonishment beside one of the tables. 

Robb laughed and his eyes twinkled mischievously. 
He turned sharply on the girl. 

“ Why, didn’t you know that Mr. Grey was going 
to be married to-day ? ” he asked, with assumed 
solemnity. “ Well, I’m blessed,” as the girl shook her 
head and giggled. “You neglect your duty, Nellie, 
my girl. What are you here for but to * sling hash ’ 
and learn all the gossip and scandal concerning the 
boarders.? Yes, Mr. Grey is going to get married 
to-day, and I—I am to be his best man. Now be off, 
and fetch my ‘ mutton ’—which is pork.” 

The girl ran off to do as she was bid, and also to 
convey the news to her friends in the kitchen. Robb 
sat down beside his companion and chuckled softly 
as he gazed at Grey’s ill-humoured face, and listened 
to the shrieks of laughter which were borne on the 
atmosphere of cooking from beyond the baize door. 

Grey choked down his indignation. For once he 
understood that protest would not serve him. Every¬ 
thing about his marriage had been kept quiet in 
Ainsley up till now, not because there was any need 
for it, but Robb had acceded to his expressed wishes. 
The latter, however, felt himself in no way bound to 
keep silence on this, the eventful day. Robb attacked 
some toast as a preliminary, while the other devoured 
his steak. Then Grey looked up from his plate. 
His face had cleared; his ill-humour had been 
replaced by a look of keen earnestness. 

“It’s a beastly nuisance that this is my wedding 
day,” he began. “Yes, I mean it,” as Robb looked 



LESLIE GREY FULFILS HIS DESTINY loi 


up in horrified astonishment. “ I don’t mean anything 
derogatory to anybody. I just state an obvious fact. 
You would understand if you knew all.” 

“ But, damn it, man, you ought to be ashamed of 
yourself for saying such a thing. You are marrying 
one of the best and sweetest girls in Southern Mani¬ 
toba, and yet—why, it’s enough to choke a man off 
his feed.” Chillingwood was angry. 

“Don’t be a fool. You haven’t many brains, I 
know, but use the few you possess now, and listen to 
me. A week ago, yes; a week hence, yes. But for 
the next three days I have some dangerous work on 
hand that must be done. Work of my department.” 

“ Ah, dirty work, I suppose, or there’d be no ‘ must ’ 
or ‘ danger ’ about it.” 

Grey shrugged. 

“ Call it what you like. Since you’ve left the service 
I notice you look at things differently,” he said. 
“ Anyway, it’s good enough for me to be determined 
to see it through in spite of my wedding. Damn it, 
there’s always some obstacle or other cropping up 
at inopportune moments in my life. However—I 
wish I knew whether I could still trust you to do 
something for me. It would simplify matters con¬ 
siderably.” 

Robb looked serious. He might not be possessed 
of many brains, as Grey had suggested—although 
Grey’s opinions were generally warped—but he 
thought well before he replied. And when he spoke 
he showed considerable decision and foresight. 

“ You can trust me all right enough if the matter is 
clean and honest. I’ll do nothing dirty for you or 
anybody else. I’ve seen too much.” 


102 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


“Oh, it’s clean enough. I don’t dirty my hands 
with dishonest dealings. I simply do my duty.” 

“ But your sense of duty is an exaggerated one— 
peculiar. I notice that it takes the form of any 
practices which you consider will advance your 
personal interests.” 

“ It so happens that my ‘ personal interests ’ are 
synonymous with the interests of those I serve. But 
all I require is the delivery of a letter in Winnipeg, 
at a certain time on a given date. I can’t trust the 
post for a very particular reason, and as for the tele¬ 
graph, that wouldn’t answer my purpose. 1 could 
employ a messenger, but that would not do either—a 
disinterested messenger could be got at. You, I 
know, couldn’t be—er—influenced. If you fail me, 
then I must do it myself, which means that I must 
leave my bride shortly after the ceremony to-day, and 
not return to her until Friday, more than two days 
hence. That’s how the matter stands. I will pay all 
your expenses and give you a substantial present to 
boot. Just for delivering a letter to the chief of police 
in Winnipeg. I will go and write it at once if you 
consent.” 

Robb shook his head doubtfully. 

“ I must know more than that. First, I must know, 
in confidence of course, the object of that letter. 
And, secondly, who is to be the victim of your machin¬ 
ations. Without these particulars you can count me 
‘out’ I’ll be no party to anything I might afterwards 
have cause to regret.” 

“ That settles it then,” replied Grey resentfully. “ I 
can’t reveal the name of my ‘victim,’ as you so 
graphically put it You happen to know him, I 


LESLIE GREY FULFILS HIS DESTINY 103 


believe, and are on a friendly footing with him/' He 
finished up with a callous laugh. 

Robb’s eyes shone wickedly. 

“ By Jove, Grey, you’ve sunk pretty low in your 
efforts to regain your lost position. I always knew 
that you hadn’t a particle of feeling in your whole 
body for any one but yourself, but I didn’t think you’d 
treat me to a taste of your rotten ways. Were it not 
for the sake of Alice Gordon’s chum, the girl you are 
going to marry, I wouldn’t be your best man. You 
have become utterly impossible, and, after to-day’s 
event, I wash my hands of you. Damn it, you’re a 
skunk!” 

Grey laughed loudly, but there was no mirth in his 
hilarity. It was a heartless, nervous laugh. 

“ Easy, Robb, don’t get on your high horse,” he said 
presently. Then he became silent, and a sigh escaped 
him. “ I had to make the suggestion,” he went on, 
after a while. “ You are the only man I dared to 
trust. Confound it, if you must have it, I’m sorry ! ” 
The apology came out with a jerk ; it seemed to have 
been literally wrung from him. “ Try and forget it, 
Robb,” he went on, more quietly, “ we’ve known each 
other for so many years.” 

Robb was slightly mollified, but he was not likely 
to forget his companion’s proposition. He changed 
the subject. 

“Talking of Winnipeg, you know I was up there 
on business the other day. I had a bit of a shock 
while I was walking about the dep6t waiting for the 
train to start.” 

“ Oh.” Grey was not paying much attention ; he 
was absorbed in his own thoughts. 


104 the hound from THE NORTH 


“Yes,” Robb went on. “You remember Mr, 
Zachary Smith ? ” 

His companion looked up with a violent start 

“ Well, I guess. What of him ? I’m not likely to 
forget him easily. There is just one desire I have in 
life which dwarfs all others to insignificance, and that 
is to stand face to face with Mr. Zachary Smith,” 
Grey finished up significantly. 

“ Ah! So I should suppose,” Robb went on. 
“Those are my feelings to a nicety. But I didn't 
quite realize my desire, and, besides, I wasn’t sure, 
anyhow. A man appeared, just for one moment, at 
the booking-office door as I happened to pass it. He 
stared at me, and I caught his eye. Then he beat a 
retreat before I had called his face to mind—you see, 
his appearance was quite changed. A moment later 
I remembered him, or thought I did, and gave chase. 
But I had lost him, couldn’t discover a trace of him, 
and nearly lost the train into the bargain. Mind, I 
am not positive of the fellow’s identity, but I’d gamble 
a few dollars on the matter, anyway.” 

“ Lord! I’d have missed fifty trains rather than have 
lost sight of him. Just our luck,” Grey exclaimed 
violently. 

“ Well, if he’s in the district, we’ll come across him 
again. Perhaps you will have the next chance.” Robb 
pushed his chair back. 

“ I hope so.” 

“ It was he, right enough,” Robb went on medita¬ 
tively, his cheery face puckered into an expression of 
perplexity. “ He was well dressed, too, in the garb 
of an ordinary citizen, and looked quite clean and 
respectable. His face had filled out j but it was his 


LESLIE GREY FULFILS HIS DESTINY 105 


eyes that fixed me. You remember those two great, 

deep-sunken, cow-eyes of his-” Robb broke off as 

he saw Grey start. Why, what’s up ? ” 

Grey shook himself; then he gazed straight before 
him. Nor did he heed his companion’s question. A 
strongly-marked pucker appeared between his eye¬ 
brows, and a look of uncertainty was upon his face. 
Robb again urged him. 

“You haven’t seen him he asked. 

“ I don’t know,” replied Grey. 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

“ I have just remembered something. I came across 
a—stranger the other day. He was wrapped in furs, 
and I could only see his eyes. But those eyes were dis¬ 
tinctly familiar—‘ cow ’-eyes, I think you said. I was 
struck with their appearance at the time, but couldn’t 
just realize where I had seen eyes like ’em before.” 
Then he went on reflectively : “ But no, it couldn’t 

have been he. Ah-” He broke off and glanced 

in the direction of the window as the jangle of sleigh- 
bells sounded outside. “ Here’s our cutter. Come 
on.” 

Robb rose from his seat and brushed the crumbs 
from his trousers. There came the sound of voices 
from the other side of the door. 

“ Some of the boys,” said Robb, with a meaning 
smile. “ It’s early for ’em.” 

“ I believe this is your doing,” said Grey sulkily. 

Robb nodded in the direction of the window. 

“ You’ve got a team. This is no ‘ one-horsed ’ 
affair.” 

The door opened suddenly and two men entered. 

“Oh, here he is,” said one, Charlie Trellis, the 



io6 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


postmaster, with a laugh. Congratulate you, Grey, 
my friend. Double harness, eh? Tame you down, 
my boy. Good thing, marriage—for taming a man.’* 

“You’re not looking your best,” said the other. 
Jack Broad, the telegraph operator. “ Why, man, you 
look as though you were going to your own funeral. 
Buck up ! Come and have a ‘ Collins ’; brace you 
up for the ordeal.” 

“ Go to the devil, both of you,” said Grey ungra¬ 
ciously. “ I don’t swill eye-openers all day like you. 
Jack Broad. Got something else to do.” 

“ So it seems. But cheer up, man,” replied Broad 
imperturbably, “it’s not as bad as having a tooth 
drawn.” 

“Nor half as unpleasant as a funeral,” put in 
Trellis, with a grin. 

Grey turned to Robb. 

“ Come on,” he said abruptly. “ Let’s get. I shall 
say things in a minute if I stay here.” 

“ That ’ud be something new for you,” called out 
Broad, as the two men left the room. 

The door closed on his remark and he turned to 
his companion. 

“ I’m sorry for the poor girl,” he went on. “ The 
most can-tankerous pig I ever ran up against—is 
Grey.” 

“Yes,” agreed the other; “I can’t think how a 
decent fellow like Robb Chillingwood can chum up 
with him. He’s a surly clown—only fit for such 
countries as the Yukon, where he comes from. He’s 
not particularly clever either. Yes,” turning to the 
waitress, “ the usual. How would you like to be the 
bride?” 


LESLIE GREY FULFILS HIS DESTINY 107 


The girl shook her head. 

“ No, thanks. I like candy.** 

** Ah, not vinegar.’* 

“ Nor—nor—pigs.’* 

Broad turned to the grey-headed postmaster with a 
loud guffaw. 

“ She seems to have sized Grey up pretty slick.” 

Outside in the hall the two men donned their furs 
and over-shoes. Fortunately for Grey’s peace of 
mind there was no one else about. The bar-tender 
was sweeping the office out, but he did not pause in 
his work. Outside the front door the livery-stable 
man was holding the horses. Grey took his seat to 
drive, and wrapped the robes well about him. It was 
a bitterly cold morning. Robb was just about to climb 
in beside him when a ginger-headed man clad in a 
pea-jacket came running from the direction of the 
Town Hall. He waved one arm vigorously, clutching 
in his hand a piece of paper. Robb saw him first. 

“ Something for me, as sure as a gun. Hold on. 
Grey,” he said. “ It’s Sutton, the sheriff. I wonder 
what’s up ? ” 

The ginger-headed man came up breathlessly. 

Thought I was going to miss you, Chillingwood. 
A message from the Mayor. ‘ Doc ’ Ridley sends 
word that the United States marshal has got that 
horse-thief, Le Mar, over the other side. You’ll have 
to make out the papers for bringing him over. I’ve 
got to go and fetch him at once.” 

“ But, hang it, man, I can’t do them now,” exclaimed 
Robb. 

“ He’s on leave of absence,” put in Grey. 

“ Can’t be helped. I’m sorry,” said the sheriff 


io8 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


“ It’s business, you know. Besides, it won’t take 
you more than an hour. I must get across to Verdon 
before noon or it’ll be too late to get the papers 
* backed ’ there. Come on, man ; you can get another 
cutter and follow Grey up in an hour. You won’t 
lose much time.” 

“Yes, and who’s going to pay the damage?” said 
Robb, relinquishing his hold on the cutter’s rail. 

The sheriff shrugged his shoulders. 

“You’ll have to stay,” he said conclusively. 

“ I suppose so. Grey, I’m sorry.” 

“ Oh, it doesn’t matter,” replied Grey coldly. “ It’s 
not your fault. Well, good-bye. Don’t bother to 
follow me up.” 

“ Damn! ” ejaculated the good-hearted Robb, as 
the cutter moved away. 

“Going to get married, ain’t he?” said the sheriff 
shortly, as Grey departed. 

“ Yes.” And the two men walked off in the direc¬ 
tion of Chillingwood’s office. 

And Grey drove off to his wedding alone. He 
was denied even the support of the only man who, 
out of sheer good-heartedness, would have accom¬ 
panied him. The life of a man is more surely influ¬ 
enced by the peculiarities of his own disposition than 
anything else. When a man takes to himself a wife, 
it is naturally a time for the well-wishes of his friends. 
This man set out alone. Not one God-speed went 
with him. And yet he was not disturbed by the lack 
of sympathy. He looked at life from an uncommon 
standpoint, measuring its scope for the attainment of 
happiness by his own capacity for doing, not by any 
association with his kind. He was one of those men 


LESLIE GREY FULFILS HIS DESTINY 109 


who need no friendship from his fellows, preferring 
rather to be without it. Thus he considered he was 
freer to follow his own methods of life. Position 
was his goal—position in the walk of life he had 
chosen. Could he not attain this solely by his own 
exertions, then he would do without it. 

The crisp, morning air smote his cheeks with the 
sting of a whip-lash as he drove down the bush-lined 
trail which led from the Rodney House to the railway 
dep6t It was necessary for him to cross the track at 
this point before he would find himself upon the 
prairie road to the Leonville school-house, at which 
place the ceremony was to be performed. The “ gush ” 
of the horses’ nostrils sounded refreshingly in his ears 
as the animals fairly danced over the smooth, icy trail* 
The sleigh-bells jangled with a confused clashing of 
sounds in response to the gait of the eager beasts. 
But Grey thought little of these things. He thought 
little of anything just now but his intended despoil¬ 
ing of the owner of Lonely Ranch. All other matters 
were quite subsidiary to his one chief object. 

Once out in the open, the horses settled down into 
their long-distance stride. Here the trail was not so 
good as in the precincts of the village. The snow 
was deeper and softer. Now and then the horses’ 
hoofs would break through the frozen crust and sink 
well above the fetlocks into the under-snow. 

Now the thick bush, which surrounded the village, 
gave place to a sparser covering of scattered bluffs, 
and the grey-white aspect of the country became 
apparent. The trail was well marked as far as the 
eye could reach—two great furrows ploughed by the 
passage of horses and the runners of the farmers* 


no THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


heavy “ double-bobs.” Besides this, the colour was 
different. There was a strong suggestion of earthi¬ 
ness about the trail which was not to be observed 
upon the rolling snow-fields of the surrounding 
prairie. 

The air was still though keen, and the morning sun 
had already risen well above the mist of grey clouds 
which still hovered above the eastern horizon. There 
was a striking solemnity over all. It was the morn¬ 
ing promise of a fair day, and soon the dazzling sun¬ 
shine upon the snow would become blinding to eyes 
unused to the winter prairie. 

But Grey was no tenderfoot. Such things had no 
terrors for him. His half-closed eyes faced the glare 
of light defiantly. It is only the inexperienced who 
gaze across the snow-bound earth, at such a time, 
with wide-open eyes. 

The bluffs became scarcer as mile after mile was 
covered by the long, raking strides of the hardy 
horses. Occasionally Grey was forced to pull off the 
trail into the deep snow to allow the heavy-laden 
hay-rack of some farmer to pass, or a box-sleigh, 
weighted down with sacks of grain, toiling on its way 
to the Ainsley elevator. These inconveniences were 
the rule of the road, the lighter always giving way 
to the heavier conveyance. 

. Ten miles from Ainsley and the wide open sea of 
snow proclaimed the prairie in its due form. Not a 
tree in sight, not a rock, not a hill to break the awful 
monotony. Just one vast rolling expanse of snow 
gleaming beneath the dazzling rays of a now warming 
sun. A hungry coyote and his mate prowling in 
search of food at a distance of half-a-mile looked 


LESLIE GREY FULFILS HIS DESTINY iii 


large by reason of their isolation. An occasional 
covey of prairie chicken, noisily winging their way to 
a far-distant bluff, might well be startling both to 
horses and driver. A dark ribbon-like flight of ducks 
or geese, high up in the heavens, speeding from the 
south to be early in the field when the sodden prairie 
should be open, was something to distract the atten¬ 
tion of even the most pre-occupied. But Grey was 
oblivious to everything except the trail beneath him, 
the gait of his team, and his scheme for advancement 
The sun mounted higher, and the time passed 
rapidly to the traveller. And, as the record of mileage 
rose, the face of the snow-clad earth began again to 
change its appearance. The undulations of the 
prairie assumed vaster proportions. The waves rose 
to the size of hills, and the gentle hollows sank 
deeper until they declined into gaping valleys. 
Here and there trees and small clumps of leafless 
bush dotted the view. A house or two, with barn 
looming largely in the rear, and spidery fencing, 
stretching in rectangular directions, suggested home¬ 
steads ; the barking of dogs—life. These signs of 
habitation continued, and became now more frequent, 
and now, again, more rare. The hills increased in 
size and the bush thickened. Noon saw the traveller 
in an “ up-and-down ” country intersected by ice¬ 
bound streams and snow-laden hollows. The timber 
became more heavy, great pine trees dominating the 
more stunted growths, and darkening the outlook 
by reason of their more generous vegetation. On 
the eastern extremity of this belt of country stood 
the school-house of Leonville; beyond that the 
undulating prairie again on to Loon Dyke Farm. 


113 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


Leslie Grey looked at his watch; the hands indi¬ 
cated a near approach to the hour of one. He had 
yet three miles to go to reach his destination. He 
had crossed a small creek. A culvert bridged it, but 
the snow upon either side of the trail was so deep in 
the hollow that no indication of the woodwork was 
visible. It was in such places as these that a watch¬ 
ful care was needed. The smallest divergence from 
the beaten track would have precipitated the team 
and cutter into a snow-drift from which it would have 
been impossible to extricate it without a smash-up. 
Once safely across this he allowed the horses to climb 
the opposite ascent leisurely. They had done well— 
he had covered the distance in less than six hours. 

The hill was a mass of redolent pinewoods. It 
was as though the gradual densifying of this belt 
of woodland country had culminated upon the hill. 
The brooding gloom of the forest was profound. 
The dark-green foliage of the pines seemed black by 
contrast with the snow, and gazing in amongst the 
leafless lower trunks was like peering into a world of 
dayless night. The horses walked with ears pricked 
and wistful eyes alertly gazing. The darkness of 
their surroundings seemed to have conveyed something 
of its mysterious dread to their sensitive nerves. 
Tired they might be, but they were ready to shy at 
each rustle of the heavy branches, as some stray 
breath of air bent them lazily and forced from them a 
creaking protest. 

As the traveller neared the summit the trail 
narrowed down until a hand outstretched from the 
conveyance could almost have brushed the tree- 
trunks. 


LESLIE GREY FULFILS HIS DESTINY 113 

Grey's eyes were upon his horses and his thoughts 
were miles away. Ahead of him gaped the opening 
in the trees which marked the brow of the hill against 
the skyline. He had traversed the road many times 
on his way to Loon Dyke Farm and knew every foot 
of it It had no beauties for him. These profound 
woods conveyed nothing to his unimpressionable 
mind ; not even danger, for fear was quite foreign to 
his nature. This feeling of security was more the 
result of his own lofty opinion of himself, and the 
contempt in which he held- all law-breakers, rather 
than any high moral tone he possessed. Whatever 
his faults, fear was a word which found no place in 
his vocabulary. A nervous or imaginative maii 
might have conjured weird fancies from the gloom 
with which he found himself surrounded at this point. 
But Leslie Grey was differently constituted. 

Now, as he neared the summit of the hill, he leant 
slightly forward and gathered up the lines which he 
had allowed to lie slack upon his horses’ backs. A 
resounding “ chirrup ” and the weary beasts strained 
at their neck-yoke. Something moving in amongst 
the trees attracted their attention. Their snorting 
nostrils were suddenly thrown up in startled attention. 
The off-side horse jumped sideways against its com¬ 
panion, and the sleigh was within an ace of fouling 
the trees. By a great effort Grey pulled the animals 
back to the trail and his whip fell heavily across their 
backs. Then he looked up to discover the cause of 
their fright. A dark figure, a man clad in a black 
sheepskin coat, stood like a statue between two 
trees. 

His right arm was raised and his hand gripped a 

I 


114 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 

levelled pistol. For one brief instant Grey surveyed 
the apparition, and he scarcely realized his position. 
Then a sharp report rang out, ear-piercing in the 
grim silence, and his hands went up to his chest and 
his eyes closed. 

The next moment the eyes, dull, almost unseeing, 
opened again, he swayed forward as though in great 
pain, then with an effort he flung himself backwards, 
settling himself against the unyielding back of the 
seat; his face looked drawn and grey, nor did he 
attempt to regain the reins which had dropped from 
his hands. The horses, unrestrained, broke into a 
headlong gallop; fright urged them on and they 
raced down the trail, keeping to the beaten track 
with their wonted instinct, even although mad with 
fear. A moment later and the sleigh disappeared 
over the brow of the hill. 

All became silent again, except for the confused, 
distant jangle of the sleigh-bells on the horses’ backs. 
The dark figure moved out on to the trail, and 
stood gazing after the sleigh. For a full minute 
he stood thus. Then he turned again and swiftly 
became lost in the black depths whence he had so 
mysteriously appeared. 


CHAPTER VIII 
grey’s last words 

Rigid, hideous, stands the Leonville school-house 
sharply outlined against the sky, upon the summit of 
a high, rising ground. It stands quite alone as though 
in proud distinction for its classic vocation. Its flat, 
rninteresting sides; its staring windows; its high- 
pitched roof of warped shingles ; its weather-boarding, 
innocent of paint; its general air of neglect; these 
things strike one forcibly in that region of Nature’s 
carefully-finished handiwork. 

However, its cheerless aspect was for the moment 
rendered less apparent than usual by reason of many 
people gathered about the storm-porch, and the 
number and variety of farmers’ sleighs grouped about 
the two tying-posts which stood by the roadside in 
front of it An unbroken level of smooth prairie 
footed one side of the hill, whilst at the back of the 
house stretched miles of broken, hilly woodland. 

The wedding party had arrived from Loon Dyke 
Farm. Hephzibah Mailing had gathered her friends 
together, and all had driven over for the happy event 
amidst the wildest enthusiasm and excited antici¬ 
pation. Each girl, clad in her brightest colours 
beneath a sober outer covering of fur, was accompapied 
«S 


Ii6 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


by her attendant swain, the latter well oiled about the 
hair and well bronzed about the face, and glowing as 
an after-effect of the liberal use of soap and water. 
A wedding was no common occurrence, and, in 
consequence, demanded special mark of appreciation. 
No work would be done that day by any of those 
who attended the function. 

But the enthusiasm of the moment had died out at 
the first breath of serious talk—talk inspired by the 
non-appearance of the bridegroom. The hour of the 
ceremony was close at hand and still he had not 
arrived. He should have been the first upon the 
scene. The elders were agitated, the younger folk 
hopeful and full of excuses for the belated groom, the 
Minister fingered his great silver timepiece nervously. 
He had driven over from Lakeville, at much incon¬ 
venience to himself, to officiate at the launching of his 
old friend’s daughter upon the high seas of wedded 
life. 

The older ladies had rallied to Mrs. Mailing’s side. 
The younger people held aloof There was an 
ominous grouping and eager whispering, and eyes 
were turned searchingly upon the grey trail which 
stretched winding away towards the western horizon. 

The Rev. Charles Danvers, the Methodist minister 
of Lakeville, was the central figure of the situation, 
and at whom the elder ladies fired their comments 
and suggestions. There could be no doubt, from the 
nature and tone of these remarks, that a panic was 
spreading. 

“ It’s quite too bad, you know,” said Mrs. Covill, an 
iron-grey haired lady of decided presence and 
possessing a hooked nose. “ I can’t understand it in 


GREY’S LAST WORDS 


117 


a man of Mr. Grey’s business-like ways. Now he’s 
just the sort of man whom I should have expected 
would have been here at least an hour before it was 
necessary.” 

“ It is just his sort that fail on these occasions,” 
put in Mrs. Ganthorn pessimistically. “ He’s just too 
full of business for my fancy. What is the time now, 
Mr. Danvers ? ” 

“ On the stroke of the half-hour,” replied the 
parson, with a gloomy look. “My eyesight is not 
very good ; can I see anything on the trail, or is that 
black object a bush ? ” 

“ Bush,” said some one shortly. 

“ Ah,” ejaculated the parson. Then he turned to 
Mrs. Mailing, who stood beside him staring down the 
trail with unblinking eyes. Her lips were pursed 
and twitching nervously. “ There can have been 
no mistake about the time, I suppose?” 

“Mistake? No,” retorted the good lady with 
irritation. “ Folks don’t make no mistake about the 
hour of their wedding. Not the bridegroom, anyway. 
No, it’s an accident, that’s what it is, as sure as my 
name’s Hephzibah Mailing. And that’s what comes 
of his staying at Ainsley when he ought to have been 
hereabouts. To think of a man driving forty odd 
miles to get married. La’ sakes ! It just makes me 
mad with him. There’s my girl there most ready to 
cry her eyes out on her wedding morning, and small 
blame to her neither. It’s a shame, and I’m not the 
one to be likely to forget to tell him so when he 
comes along. If he were my man he’d better his 
ways, I know.” 

No one replied to the old lady’s heated complaint 


ii8 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


They all too cordially agreed with her to defend the 
recalcitrant bridegroom. Mr. Danvers drew out his 
watch for at least the twentieth time. 

“ Five minutes overdue,” he murmured. Then 
aloud and in a judicial tone: “We must allow him 
some margin. But, as you say, it certainly was a 
mistake his remaining at Ainsley.” 

“ Mistake—mistake, indeed,” Mrs. Mailing retorted, 
with all the scorn she was capable of. “ He*s that 
fool-headed that he won’t listen to no reason. Why 
couldn’t he have stopped at the farm ? Propriety— 
fiddlesticks! ” Her face was flushed and her brow 
ominously puckered ; she folded her fat hands with 
no uncertain grip across the slight frontal hollow 
which answered her purpose for a waist. Her anger 
was chiefly based upon alarm, and that alarm was 
not alone for her daughter. She was anxious for the 
man himself, and her anxiety found vent in that 
peculiar angry protest which is so little meant by 
those who resort to it. The good dame was on pins 
and needles of nervous suspense. Had Grey sud¬ 
denly appeared upon the scene doubtless her kindly 
face would have at once wreathed itself into a broad 
expanse of smiles. But the moments flew by and 
still the little group waited for the coming which was 
so long delayed. 

Three of the young men approached the agitated 
mother from the juvenile gathering. Their faces 
were solemn. Their own optimism had given way 
before the protracted delay. Tim Gleichen and 
Peter Furrers came first, Andy, the choreman, brought 
up the rear. 

“We’ve been thinking,” said Tim, feeling it 


GREY^S LAST WORDS 


19 


necessary to explain the process which had brought 
them to a certain conclusion, “ that maybe we might 
just drive down the trail to see if we can see anything 
of him, Mrs. Mailing. Ye can't just say how things 
have gone with him. Maybe he’s struck a ‘ dump' 
and his sleigh's got smashed up. There's some tidy 
drifts to come through, and it's dead easy to get 
dumped in 'em. Peter and Andy here have volunteered 
to go with me.” 

“That's real sensible of you, Tim,” replied Mrs. 
Mailing, with an air of relief. She felt quite con¬ 
vinced that an accident had happened. She turned 
to the minister. In this matter she considered he 
was the best judge. Like many of her neighbours, 
she looked to the minister as the best worldly as well 
as spiritual adviser of his flock. “ Like as not the 
boys will be able to help him ? ” she suggested, in a 
tone of inquiry. 

“ I don’t think I should let them go yet,” the man 
of the cloth replied. “ I should give him an hour. 
It seems to me it will be time enough then. Ah, 
here's Mrs. Gurridge,” as that lady appeared in the 
doorway. “ There’s no sign of him,'' he called out in 
anticipation of her inquiry. “ I hope you are not 
letting the bride worry too much.” 

“ It’s too dreadful,” said Mrs. Ganthorn, as her 
thoughts reverted to Prudence waiting in the school- 
ma’am’s sitting-room. 

“ Whatever can have happened to him ? ” 

“That’s what’s been troubling us this hour and 
more,” snapped the girl’s mother. She was in no 
humour to be asked silly questions, however little they 
were intended to be answered. 


120 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


She turned to Sarah. In this trouble the peaceful 
Sarah would act as oil on troubled waters. 

Sarah understood her look of inquiry. 

“ She’s bearing up bravely, Hephzibah. She*s not 
one of the crying sort. Too much of your Silas in 
her for that. I’ve done my best to console her.” 

She did not say that she had propounded several 
mottos more or less suitable to the occasion, which 
had been delivered with great unction to the discon¬ 
solate girl. Prudence had certainly benefited by the 
good woman’s company, but not in the way Sarah had 
hoped and believed. It was the girl’s own sense of 
humour which had helped her. 

Mrs. Mailing turned away abruptly. Her red face 
had grown a shade paler, and her round, brown eyes 
were suspiciously watery. But she gazed steadily 
down the trail on which all her hopes were set. The 
guests stood around in respectful silence. The party 
which had arrived so light-heartedly had now become 
as solemn as though they had come to attend a 
funeral. The minister continued to glance at his 
watch from time to time. He had probably never in 
his life so frequently referred to that faithful com¬ 
panion of his preaching hours. Tim Gleichen and 
Peter Furrers and Andy had moved off in the direc¬ 
tion of the sleighs. The others followed Mrs. Mailing’s 
example and bent their eyes upon the vanishing point 
of the trail. 

Suddenly an ejaculation escaped one of the 
bystanders. Something moving had just come into 
view. All eyes concentrated upon a black speck 
which was advancing rapidly in a cloud of ground 
snow. Hope rose at a bound to wild, eager delight. 


GREY’S LAST WORDS 


111 


The object was a sleigh. And the speed at which it 
was coming down the trail told them that it was 
bearing the belated bridegroom, who, conscious of his 
fault, was endeavouring to make up the lost time. 
Mrs. Mailing’s round face shone again in her relief, 
and a sigh of content escaped her. Word was sent 
at once to the bride, and all was enthusiasm again. 
Then followed a terrible shock. Peter Furrer, more 
long-sighted than the rest, delivered it in a boorish 
fashion all his own. 

“ Ther’ ain’t no one aboard of that sleigh,” he called 
out. “ Say, them plugs is just boltin’. Gum, but they 
be cornin’ hell-belt-fer-leckshuns.” Every one under¬ 
stood his expression, and faces that a moment before 
had been radiant with hope changed their expression 
with equal suddenness to doubt, then in a moment to 
apprehension. 

“ You don’t say-” Mrs. Mailing gasped ; it was 

all she could say. 

“ It can’t-” The minister got no further, and 

he fingered his watch from force of habit. 

“ It’s-” some one said and broke off. Then 

followed an excited murmur. “What’s Peter going 
to do?” 

The young giant had darted off down the trail in 
the direction of the approaching sleigh. He lurched 
heavily over the snow, his ungainly body rolling to 
his gait, but he was covering ground in much the 
same way that a racing elephant might. His stride 
carried him along at a great pace. The onlookers 
wondered and exclaimed, their gaze alternating in 
amazement between the two objects, the on-coming 
sleigh and the huge lurching figure of the boy. 


122 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


Now the sleigh was near enough for them to note 
the truth of Peter’s statement The horses, ungoverned 
by any guiding hand, were tearing along at a desperate 
pace. The cutter bumped and swayed in a threaten¬ 
ing manner ; now it was lifted bodily from the trail as 
its runners struck the banked sides of the furrows; 
now it balanced on one side, hovering between over¬ 
turning and righting itself, now on the other; then 
again it would jerk forward with a rush on to the 
heels of the affrighted horses with maddening effect. 
The poor brutes stretched themselves wildly to escape 
from their terror. On they came amidst a whirl of 
flying snow, and Peter had halted beside the trail 
awaiting them. 

Those who were watching saw the boy move out¬ 
side the beaten track. Already the panting of the 
runaways could be heard by those looking on. If the 
animals were not stayed in their mad career they 
must inevitably crash into the school-house or collide 
with the sleighs at the tying-posts. There was no 
chance of their leaving the beaten trail, for they were 
prairie horses. 

Some of the men, as the realization of this fact 
dawned upon them, hurried away to remove their 
possessions to some more secure position, but most of 
them remained gaping at the runaway team. 

Now they saw Peter crouch down, beating the 
snow under his feet to give himself a firm footing. 
Barely fifty yards separated him from the sleigh. He 
settled himself into an attitude as though about to 
spring. Nearer drew the sleigh. The boy’s position 
was fraught with the greatest danger. The onlookers 
held their breath. What did he contemplate ? Peter 


GREY’S LAST WORDS 


123 


had methods peculiar to himself, and those who looked 
wondered. Nearer — nearer came the horses. A 
moment more and the boy was lost in the cloud of 
snow which rose beneath the horses’speeding feet. A 
sigh broke from many of the ladies as they saw him 
disappear. Then, next, there came an exclamation of 
relief as they saw his bulky figure struggling wildly to 
draw himself up over the high back of the sleigh. It 
was no easy task, but Peter’s great strength availed 
him. They saw him climb over and stand upon the 
cushion, then, for a moment, he looked down as though 
in doubt. 

At last he leaned forward, and, laying hold of the 
rail of the incurved dashboard, he climbed laboriously 
out on to the setting of the sleigh’s tongue. The 
flying end of one of the reins was waving annoyingly 
beyond his reach. He ventured out further, still 
holding to the dashboard, which swayed and bent 
under the unaccustomed weight. Suddenly he made 
a grab and caught the elusive strap and overbalanced 
in the effort. He came within an ace of falling, but 
was saved by lurching on to the quarters of one of 
the horses. With a struggle he recovered himself 
and regained the sleigh. The rest was the work of a 
few seconds. 

Bracing himself, he leant his whole weight on the 
single rein. The horses swerved at once, and leaving 
the trail plunged into the deep snow. The frantic 
animals fell, recovered themselves, and floundered on, 
then with a great jolt the sleigh turned over. Peter 
shot clear of the wreck, but with experience of such 
capsizes, he clung tenaciously to the rein. He was 
dragged a few yards; then, trembling and ready to 


124 the hound from the north 


start off again at a moment’s notice, the jaded beasts 
stood. 

There was a rush of men to Peter’s assistance. The 
women followed. But the latter never reached the 
sleigh. Something clad in the brown fur of the 
buffalo was lying beside the trail where the cutter had 
overturned. Here they came to a stand, and found 
themselves gazing down upon the inanimate form of 
Leslie Grey. 

It was a number of the younger ladies of the party 
who reached the injured man first; the Furrer girls 
and one of the Miss Covills. They paused abruptly 
within a couple of yards of the fur-clad object and 
craned forward, gazing down at it with horrified eyes. 
The next minute they were thrust aside by the parson. 
He came, followed by Mrs. Mailing. 

In a moment he had thrown himself upon his knees 
and was looking into the pallid face of the prostrate 
man, and almost unconsciously his hand pushed itself 
in through the fastenings of the fur coat. He with¬ 
drew it almost instantly, giving vent to a sharp 
exclamation. It was covered with blood. 

“ Stand back, please, everybody,” he commanded. 

He was obeyed implicitly. But his order came 
too late. They had seen the blood upon his hand. 

Miss Ganthorn began to faint and was led away. 
Other girls looked as though they might follow suit. 
Only Hephzibah Mailing stood her ground. Her 
face was blanched, but her mouth was tightly clenched. 
She uttered no sound. All her anger against the 
prostrate man had vanished ; a world of pity was in 
her eyes as she silently looked on. 

The parson summoned some of the men. 


GREY’S LAST WORDS 


125 


“ Bear a hand, boys,” he said, in a business-like 
tone which deceived no one. “ We’d better get him 
into the house.” Then, seeing Mrs. Mailing, he went 
on, “ Get Prudence away at once. She must not 
see.” 

The old farm-wife hurried off, and the others gently 
raised the body of the unconscious man and bore it 
towards the house. 

Thus did Leslie Grey attend his wedding. 

The body was taken in by a back way to Sarah 
Gurridge’s bedroom and laid upon the bed. Tim 
Gleichen was dispatched at once to Lakeville for the 
doctor. Then, dismissing everybody but Harry 
Gleichen, Mr. Danvers proceeded to remove the sick 
man’s outer clothing. 

The room was small, the one window infinitely so. 
A single sunbeam shone coldly in through the latter 
and lit up the well-scrubbed bare floor. There was 
nothing but the plainest of “ fixings ” in the apart¬ 
ment, but they had been set in position by the deft 
hand of a woman of taste. The bed on which the 
unconscious man had been placed was narrow and 
hard. Its coverlet was a patchwork affair of depressing 
hue. 

Mr. Danvers bent to his work with a full apprecia¬ 
tion of the tragedy which had happened. His face 
was solemn, and expressive of the most tender solici¬ 
tude for the injured man. In a whisper he dispatched 
his assistant for warm water and bandages, whilst he 
unfastened and removed the fur coat. Inside the 
clothing was saturated with still warm blood. The 
minister’s lips tightened as the truth of what had 
happened slowly forced itself upon his mind, 


126 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


So absorbed was he in his ministrations that he 
failed to heed the sound of excited whisperings which 
came to him from beyond the door. It was not until 
the creaking of the hinges had warned him that the 
door was ajar, that he looked up from his occupation. 
At that moment there was a rustle of silk, the noise 
of swift footsteps across the bare boards, and Prudence 
was at the opposite side of the bed. 

The soft oval of the girl’s face was drawn, and deep 
lines of anxious thought had broken up the smooth 
expanse of her forehead. Her eyes seemed to be 
straining out of their sockets, and the whites were 
bloodshot She did not speak, but her look dis¬ 
played an anguish unspeakable. Her eyes were 
turned upon the face of the prostrate man ; she did 
not appear to see the minister. Her look suggested 
some mute question, which seemed to pass from her 
troubled eyes to the silent figure. Watching her, 
Danvers understood that, for the present, it would 
be dangerous to break the dreadful silence that held 
her. He stooped again and drew back the waistcoat 
and began to cut away the under-garments from 
Grey’s chest 

Swiftly as the minister’s deft fingers moved about 
the man’s body, his thoughts travelled faster. He 
was not a man given to morbid sentimentality; his 
calling demanded too much of the practical side of 
human nature. He was there to aid his flock, materi¬ 
ally as well as spiritually, but at the moment he felt 
positively sick in the stomach with sorrow and pity 
for the woman who stood like a statue on the other 
side of what he knew to be this man’s deathbed. He 
dared not look over at her again. Instead, he bent 


GREY*S LAST WORDS 


127 

his head lower and concentrated his mind on the 
work before him. 

The silence continued, broken only by an occasional 
heavy gasp of breath from the girl. The dripping 
shirt was cut clear of the man’s chest, and the woollen 
under-shirt was treated in a similar manner. The 
exposed flesh was crimson with the blood which was 
slowly oozing from a small wound a few inches higher 
up in the chest than where the heart was so faintly 
beating. One glance sufficed to tell the parson that 
medical aid would be useless. The wound was 
through the lungs. 

For a moment he hesitated. His better sense 
warned him to keep silence, but pity urged him to 
speak. Pity swayed him with the stronger hand. 

“ He is alive,” he said. And the next moment he 
regretted his words. 

The tension of the girl’s dreadful expression relaxed 
instantly. It was as the lifting of a dead weight 
which had crushed her heart within her. She had 
been numbed, paralyzed. Actual suffering had not 
been hers, she had experienced a suspension of feel¬ 
ing which had resulted from the shock. But that 
suspension was far more dreadful than the most acute 
suffering. Her whole soul had asked her senses, 
“ What is it } ” and the waiting for the answer had 
been to her in the nature of a blank. 

The minister’s low murmured sentence had sup¬ 
plied her with an answer. “ He is alive.” The words 
touched the springs of life within her and a glad 
flush swept over her straining nerves. Reason once 
more resumed its sway, and thought flowed through 
her brain in an unchecked torrent. It seemed to 


128 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


Prudence as though some barrier had suddenly shut 
off the simple life which had always been hers, and 
had opened out for her a fresh existence in which she 
found herself alone with the still, broken body of her 
lover. For one brief instant her lips quivered, and a 
faint in-catching of the breath told of the woman, 
which, at the first return of feeling, had leapt upper¬ 
most in her. But before the maturity of emotion 
brought about the breakdown, a calm strength came to 
her aid and steadied her nerves and checked the tears 
which had so suddenly come into her eyes. Women 
are like this. At a crisis in sickness they rise 
superior to all emotion. When the crisis is past, 
whether for good or ill, it is different. 

The water was brought, and the minister set about 
cleaning the discoloured flesh, while Prudence looked 
on in silence. She was very pale, and her eyes were 
painfully bright. While her gaze followed the gentle 
movements of the minister, her thoughts were running 
swiftly over the scenes of her life in which the 
wounded man had played his part. She remembered 
every look of the now closed eyes, and every expres¬ 
sion of his well'loved features. She called to mind 
his words of hope, and the carefully-laid plans for his 
advancement. Nor was there any taint of his selfish¬ 
ness in her recollection of these things. Everything 
about him, to her, was good and true. She loved him 
with all the passionate intensity of one who had only 
just attained to perfect womanhood. He had been to 
her something of a hero, by reason of his headstrong, 
dominating ways—ways which more often attract the 
love of woman in the first flush of her youth than in 
her maturer, more experienced years. 


GRETS LAST WORDS 


129 


The sponging cleaned the flesh of the ghastly 
stain, and the small wound with its blackened rim 
lay revealed in all its horrid significance. The girl’s 
eyes fixed themselves on it, and for some seconds 
she watched the blood as it welled up to the 
surface. The meaning of the puncture forced itself 
slowly upon her mind, and she realized that it 
was no accident which had laid her lover low. 
Her eyes remained directed towards the crimson 
flow, but their expression had changed, as had 
the set of her features. A hard, relentless look had 
replaced the one of tender pity—a look which in¬ 
dexed a feeling more strong than any other in 
the human organism. She was beginning to under¬ 
stand now that a crime had been committed, and 
a vengeful hate for some person unknown possessed 
her. 

She pointed at the wound, and her voice sounded 
icily upon the stillness of the room. 

“ That,” she said. “ They have murdered him.’* 

“ He has been shot.” The parson looked up into 
the girl’s face. 

Then followed a pause. Sarah Gurridge and 
Prudence’s mother stole softly in and approached the 
bedside. The former carried a tumbler of brandy in 
her hand and came to Mr. Danvers’s side; Mrs, 
Mailing ranged herself beside her daughter, but the 
latter paid no heed to her. 

The farm-wife lifted the girl’s hand from the bed¬ 
post and caressed it in loving sympathy. Then she 
endeavoured to draw her away. 

‘‘ Come, child, come with me. You can do no good 
here.” 


130 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


Prudence shook her off roughly. Nor did she 
answer. Her mother did not renew her attempt. 

All watched while Danvers forced some of the 
spirit between Grey’s tightly-closed lips and then 
stood up to note the effect. 

He was actuated by a single thought He knew 
that the man was doomed, but he hoped that con¬ 
sciousness might be restored before the tiny spark of 
life burnt itself out There was something to be 
said if human aid could give the dying man the 
power to say it Prudence seemed to understand 
the minister’s motive, for she vaguely nodded her 
approval as she saw the spirit administered. 

All waited eagerly for the sign of life which the 
stimulating properties of the spirit might reveal. The 
girl allowed her thoughts to drift away to the lonely 
trail over which her lover had driven. She saw in 
fancy the crouching assailants firing from the cover 
of some wayside bluff. She seemed to hear many 
shots, to see the speeding horses, to hear the dull 
sound of the fatal bullet as her man was hit She 
pictured to herself the assassins, with callous indiffer¬ 
ence, as the cutter passed out of view, mounting their 
horses and riding away. Her thoughts had turned 
to the only criminals she understood—horse-thieves. 

The sign of life which had been so anxiously 
awaited came at last It was apparent in the flicker 
of the wax-like eyelids ; in the faintest of sighs from 
between the colourless lips. Danvers bent again over 
the dying man and administered more of the spirit 
It took almost instantaneous effect The eyelids half 
opened and the mouth distinctly moved. The action 
was like that of one who is parched with thirst Grey 


GREY’S LAST WORDS 


131 

gasped painfully, and a strange rattle came from his 
throat. 

Danvers shook his head as he heard the sound. 
Prudence, whose eyes had never left the dying man’s 
face, spoke sharply. She voiced a common thought. 

“ Who did it, Leslie ? ” 

The minister nodded approval. For a moment his 
eyes rested admiringly on the girl’s eager face. Her 
courage astonished him. Then, as he read her ex¬ 
pression aright, his wonder lessened. The gulf is 
bridged by a single span at the point of transition 
from the girl to the woman. He understood that she 
had crossed that bridge. r 

Grey struggled to speak, but only succeeded in 
uttering an inarticulate sound. The minutes dragged. 
The suspense was dreadful. They all realized that 
he was fast sinking, but in every heart was a hope 
that he would speak, would say one word which 
might give some clue to what had happened. 

The minister applied the rest of the brandy. The 
dying man’s breathing steadied. The eyes opened ** 
wider. Prudence leaned forward. Her whole soul 
was in the look she bestowed upon the poor drawn 
face, and in the tones of her voice. 

“ Leslie, Leslie, speak to me. My poor, poor boy. 
Tell me, how did it happen ? Who did it ? ” 

The man gasped in response. He seemed to be 
making one last great struggle against the over¬ 
whelming weakness which was his. His head moved 
and a feeble cough escaped his lips. The girl put her 
arm under his head and slightly raised it, and the 
dying eyes looked into hers. She could no longer 
find words to utter; great passionate sobs shook her 


132 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 

slight frame, and scalding tears coursed down her 
cheeks and fell upon the dingy coverlet. 

A whistling breath came from between the dying 
man’s parted lips, and culminated in a hoarse rattling 
in his throat. Then his body moved abruptly, and 
one arm lifted from the elbow-joint, the head half 
turned towards the girl, and words distinct, but halt¬ 
ing, came from the working lips. 

“ He—he—did—it. Free — P — Press, Yell—ow— 

G-” The last word died away to a gurgle. A 

violent fit of coughing seized the dying man, then it 
ceased suddenly. His head weighed like lead upon 
the girl’s supporting hand, and a thin trickle of blood 
bubbled from the corners of his mouth. Prudence 
withdrew her arm from beneath him and replaced the 
head upon the pillow. Her tears had ceased to flow 
now. 

“ He is dead,” she said with studied calmness, as 
she straightened herself up from the bed. 

She moved a step or two away. Then she paused 
uncertainly and gazed about her like one dazed. Her 
mother went towards her, but before she reached her 
side Prudence uttered a strange, wild cry and rushed 
from the room, tearing wildly at the fastenings of her 
silk dress as though to rid herself of the mocking 
reminder of that awful day. 


CHAPTER IX 


LONELY RANCH AT OWL HOOT 

In spite of the recent tragic events the routine of 
the daily life at Loon Dyke Farm was very little in¬ 
terfered with. Just for a few weeks following upon 
the death of Leslie Grey the organization of Mrs. 
Mailing’s household had been thrown out of gear. 

The coming of the police and the general scouring 
of the country for the murderers of the Customs 
officer had entailed a ‘‘nine days’ wonder” around 
the countryside, and had helped to disturb the wonted 
peace of the farm. But the search did not last long. 
Horse-thieves do not wait long in a district, and the 
experience of the “ riders of the plains ” taught them 
that it would be useless to pursue where there was no 
clue to guide them. The search was abandoned after 
a while, and the dastardly murder remained an un¬ 
solved mystery. 

The shock to Prudence’s nervous system had been 
a terrible one, and a breakdown, closely bordering 
upon brain fever, had followed. The girl’s condition 
had demanded the utmost care, and, in this matter, 
Sarah Gurridge had proved herself a loyal friend. Dr. 
Parash, with conscientious soundness of judgment, had 
ordered her removal for a prolonged sojourn to city 
133 


134 the hound from THE NORTH 

life in Toronto; a course which, in spite of heartbroken 
appeal on the girl’s part, her mother insisted upon 
carrying out with Spartan-like resolution. 

“ Broken hearts,” she had said to Sarah, during a 
confidential chat upon the subject, “ are only kept from 
mending by them as talks sympathy. There isn’t 
nothin’ like mixing with folks what’s got their own 
troubles to worrit over. She’ll get all that for sure 
when she gets to one o’ them cities. Cities is full of 
purgat’ry,” she added profoundly. “ I shall send her 
down to sister Emma, she’s one o’ them hustlin’ 
women that ’ll never let the child rest a minute.” 

And Sarah had approved feelingly. 

So Prudence was safely dispatched eastwards for 
an indefinite period before the spring opened. But 
Hephzibah Mailing had yet to realize that her daugh¬ 
ter had suddenly developed from a child, who looked 
to her mother’s guidance in all the more serious ques¬ 
tions of life, into a woman of strong feelings and 
opinions. This swift casting off of the fetters of child¬ 
hood had been the work of those few passionate 
moments at the bedside of her dying lover. 

Prudence had submitted to the sentence which her 
mother, backed by the doctor’s advice, had passed, and 
she went away. But in complying with the order she 
had performed the last act which childhood’s use had 
prompted. The period of her absence was indefinite. 
The fiat demanded no limitation to her stay with 
“ sister ” Emma. She could return when she elected 
so to do. Bred in the pure air of the prairie, no city 
could claim her for long. And so she returned to the 
farm against all opposition within two months of 
leaving it 


LONELY RANCH AT OWL HOOT 135 


The spring brought another change to the farm, a 
change which was as welcome to the old farm-wife as 
the opening of the spring itself. Hervey returned 
from Niagara, bringing with him the story of the 
failure of his mission. True to herself and the 
advice of I redale, Hephzibah made her proposition 
to her son, with the result that, with some show of 
distaste, he accepted the situation, and with his 
three-legged companion took up his abode at the 
farm. 

And so the days lengthened and the summer heat 
increased; the hay in the sloughs ripened and 
filled the air with its refreshing odours ; the black 
squares of ploughed land were quickly covered with 
the deepening carpet of green, succulent grain; the 
wild currant-bushes flowered, and the choke-cherries 
ripened on the laden branches, and the deep blue 
vault of the heavens smiled down upon the verdant 
world. 

George I redale again became a constant and wel¬ 
come visitor at the farm, nor in her leisure did Sarah 
Gurridge seek relaxation in any other direction. 

The morning was well advanced. The air was still 
and very hot. There was a peaceful drowsiness about 
the farm buildings and yard which was only broken by 
the occasional squeal of the mouching swine routing 
amongst any stray garbage their inquisitive eyes 
happened to light upon. The upper half of the barn 
door stood open, and in the cool shade of the interior 
could be seen the outline of dark, well-rounded forms 
looming between the heel-posts of the stalls which 
lined the side walls. An occasional impatient stamp 
from the heavily-shod hoofs told of the capacity for 


136 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


annoyance of the ubiquitous fly or aggravating mos¬ 
quito, whilst the steady grinding sound which per¬ 
vaded the atmosphere within, and the occasional 
“gush” of distended nostrils testified to healthy 
appetites, and noses buried in mangers well filled with 
sweet-smelling “ Timothy” hay. 

The kitchen doorway was suddenly filled with the 
ample proportions of Hephzibah Mailing. She moved 
out into the open. She was carrying a large pail 
filled with potato-parings and other fragments of 
culinary residuum. A large white sun-bonnet pro¬ 
tected her grey head and shaded her now flaming 
face from the sun, and her dress, a neat study in 
grey, was enveloped in a huge apron. 

She moved out to a position well clear of the 
buildings and began to call out in a tone of per¬ 
suasive encouragement— 

“ Tig—tig—tig ! Tig—tig—tig! ” 

She repeated her summons several times, then 
moved on slowly, continuing to call at intervals. 

The swine gathered with a hungry rush at her 
heels, and their chorus of acclamation drowned her 
familiar cry. Passing down the length of the barn 
she reached a cluster of thatched mud hovels. Here 
she opened the crazy gate to admit her clamorous 
flock, and then deposited the contents of her pail in 
the trough provided for that purpose. The pigs 
fell-to with characteristic avidity, complaining vocifer¬ 
ously the while as only pigs will. 

She stood for a few moments looking down at her 
noisy charges with calculating eyes. It was a fine 
muster of young porkers, and the old lady was esti¬ 
mating their bacon-yielding capacity. 


LONELY RANCH AT OWL HOOT 137 


Suddenly her reflections were interrupted by the 
sound of footsteps, and turning, she saw Hervey 
crossing the yard in the direction of the creamery. 
She saw him disappear down the steps which led to 
the door, for the place was in the nature of a dug- 
out. She sighed heavily and moved away from 
her porkers, and slowly she made her way to the 
wash-house. The sight of this man had banished all 
her feelings of satisfaction. Her son was a constant 
trouble to her ; a source of grave worry and anxiety. 
Her hopes of him had been anything but fulfilled. 

In the meantime Hervey had propped himself 
against the doorway of the creamery and was talk¬ 
ing to his sister within. The building, like all dug- 
outs, was long and low ; its roof was heavily thatched 
to protect the interior from the effects of the sun’s 
rays. Prudence was moving slowly along the two 
wide counters which lined the walls from one end to 
the other. Each counter was covered with a number 
of huge milk-pans, from which the girl was carefully 
skimming the thick, yellow cream. She worked 
methodically ; and the rich fat dropped with a heavy 
plonk ” into the small pail she carried, in a manner 
which testified to the quality of the cream. 

She looked a little paler than usual ; the healthy 
bloom had almost entirely disappeared from her 
cheeks, and dark shadows surrounded her brown 
eyes. But this was the only sign she displayed of 
the tragedy which had come into her young life. 
The trim figure was unimpaired, and her wealth of 
dark hair was as carefully adjusted as usual. Hervey 
watched his sister’s movements as she passed from 
pan to pan. 


138 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


“ I redale wants me to ride over to Owl Hoot 
to-day,” he said slowly. We’re going to have an 
afternoon’s ‘chicken shoot.’ He says the prairie- 
chicken round his place are as thick as mosquitoes. 
He’s a lucky beggar. He seems to have the best of 
everything. I’ve scoured our farm all over and 
there’s not so much as a solitary grey owl to get a 
pot at. I hate the place.” 

Prudence ceased working and faced him. She 
scornfully looked him up and down. At that 
moment she looked very picturesque with her black 
skirt turned up from the bottom and pinned about 
her waist, displaying an expanse of light-blue petti¬ 
coat. Her blouse was a simple thing in spotless 
white cotton, with a black ribbon tied about her 
neck. 

“ I think you are very ungrateful, Hervey,” she 
said quietly. “ I’ve only been home for a few 
months, and not a day has passed but what I’ve 
heard you grumble about something in connection 
with your home. If it isn’t the dulness it’s the 
work; if it isn’t the work it’s your position of 
dependence, or the distance from town, or the people 
around us. Now you grumble because of the shoot¬ 
ing. What do you want } We’ve got a section and 
a half, nearly a thousand acres, under wheat; we’ve 
got everything that money can buy in the way of 
improvements in machinery; we’ve got a home that 
might fill many a town-bred man with envy, and a 
mother who denies us nothing; and yet you aren’t 
satisfied. What do you want? If things aren’t 
what you like, for goodness’ sake go back to the wilds 
again, where, according to your own account, you 


LONELY RANCH AT OWL HOOT 139 

were happy. Your incessant grumbling makes me 
sick.** 

“ A new departure, sister, eh ? ** Hervey retorted, 
smiling unpleasantly. “ I always thought it was 
everybody*s privilege to grumble a bit. Still, I don*t 
think it*s for you to start lecturing me if even it isn’t. 
Mother’s treated me pretty well—in a way. But 
don’t forget she’s only hired me the same as she’s 
hired Andy, or any of the rest of the hands. Why, 
I haven’t even the same position as you have. I am 
paid so many dollars a month, for which I have to 
do certain work. Let me tell you this, my girl: if I 
had stayed on this farm until father died my position 
would have been very different. It would all have 
been mine now.” 

“ Well, since you didn’t do so, the farm is mother’s.** 
Prudence’s pale cheeks had become flushed with 
anger. “ And I think, all things considered, she has 
treated you particularly well.” 

And she turned back to her work. 

The girl was very angry, and justifiably so. Her¬ 
vey was lazy. The work which was his was rarely 
done unless it happened to fall in with his plans for 
the moment. He was thoroughly bearish to both his 
mother and herself, and he had already overdrawn 
the allowance the former had made him. All this 
had become very evident to the girl since her return 
to the farm, and it cut her to the quick that the 
peace of her home should have been so rudely 
broken. Even Prudence’s personal troubles were 
quite secondary to the steady grind of Hervey’s ill- 
manners. 

Curiously enough, after the first passing of the 


140 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


shock of Grey’s death she found herself less stricken 
than she would have deemed it possible. There 
could be no doubt that she had loved the man in her 
girlish, adoring fashion. 

She had thought that never again could she return 
to the place which had such dread memories for her. 
Thoughts of the long summer days, and the dreary, 
interminable winter, when the distractions of labour 
are denied the farmer, had been revolting to her. To 
live within a few miles of where that dreadful tragedy 
had occurred; to live amongst the surroundings 
which must ever be reminding her of her dead lover; 
these things had made her shrink from the thought 
of the time when she would again turn westward to 
her home. 

But when she had once more taken her place in 
the daily life at the farm, it was, at first with a certain 
feeling of self-disgust, and later with thankfulness, 
that she learned that she could face her old life with 
perfect equanimity. The childish passion for her 
dead lover had died ; the shock which had suddenly 
brought about her own translation from girlhood to* 
womanhood had also dispelled the illusions of her 
girlish first love. 

She confided nothing to anybody, but just went 
about her daily round of labours in a quiet, pensive 
way, striving by every means to lighten her mother’s 
burden and to help her brother to the path which 
their father before them had so diligently trodden. 

Her patience had now given way under the 
wearing tide of Hervey’s dissatisfaction, and it 
seemed as though a rupture between them were 
imminent 


LONELY RANCH AT OWL HOOT 141 


“Oh, well enough, if you consider bare duty,*^ 
Hervey retorted after a deliberate pause. 

“ Bare duty, indeed ! ” Prudence’s two brown eye^i 
flashed round on him in an instant. “ You are the 
sort of man who should speak of duty, Hervey. You 
just ought to be ashamed of yourself. Your mother’s 
debt of duty towards you was fulfilled on the day 
you left the farm years ago. She provided you with 
liberal capital to start you in life. Now you have 
come back, and she welcomes you with open arms— 
we both do—glad that you should be with us again. 
And what return have you made to her for her good¬ 
ness I’ll tell you; you have brought her nothing 
but days of unhappiness with your lazy, grumbling 
ways. If you are going to continue like this, for 
goodness’ sake go away again. She has enough on 
her shoulders without being worried by you.” 

The man looked for a moment as though he were 
going to give expression to some very nasty talk. 
Prudence had returned to her pans and so lost the 
evil glance of his expressive eyes. Then his look 
changed to a mocking smile, and when he spoke his 
words were decidedly conciliating. 

“ I’m afraid I’ve done something to offend you, 
Prue. But you shouldn’t use hard words like that. 
I know I’m not much of a farmer, and I am always 
a bit irritable when I am not my own master. But 
don’t let s quarrel. I wanted to talk to you about 
George Iredale. He seems a jolly decent fellow— 
much too good to be kicking his heels about in such 
a district as Owl Hoot. He’s extremely wealthy, 
isn’t he?” 

The girl felt angry still, but Hervey’s tone slightly 


142 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


mollified her. She answered shortly enough, and the 
skimming of the milk was not done with the adept¬ 
ness which she usually displayed. 

“Rich? Yes, he’s one of the richest men in 
Manitoba. Why ? ” 

“ Oh, I don’t know. He seems very interested in 
—us. He’s always over here. And he never by any 
chance loses an opportunity of ingratiating himself 
with mother. I wonder what his object is ? ” 

Prudence bent over her wprk to hide the tell-tale 
flush which had spread over her face, and the skim¬ 
ming was once more done with the utmost care. 

“ Mother is very fond of Mr. Iredale,” she replied 
slowly. “ He is a good man, and a good friend. 
We, as you know, are his nearest neighbours. Are 
you going over there to-day ? 

“ I think so. Why ? ” 

“Oh—it doesn’t matter—I was going to ask you 
to ride over to Lakeville to ask Alice Gordon to 
come here during the harvesting. She’s staying with 
the Covills. But it doesn’t matter in the least, I 
can send one of the boys.” 

“ Yes, better send one of the boys. I’m going over 
to Lonely Ranch. I shall cultivate Iredale; he’s the 
only man I care about round here.” 

Prudence had nearly completed her operations and 
was salting the cream in the pail. 

“ Say, sis, did it ever strike you that Iredale’s dead 
sweet on you ? ” Hervey went on coarsely. 

The girl suddenly turned and looked her brother 
squarely in the face. Her brow was again flushed, 
but now with anger. 

“You’ll lose the best of your shooting if you don’t 


LONELY RANCH AT OWL HOOT 143 

hurry. You’ve got ten miles to ride. And—I am 
going to lock up.” 

Her brother didn’t offer to move. 

“Why do you do all this work?” he went on 
calmly. “Why don’t you send all the milk to the 
Government creamery ? It’ll save labour, and you get 
market price for the produce.” 

“ Because Government creameries are for those who 
can’t afford to send their stuff to market, or make 
their cheese on their farms.” 

“Ah, that’s the worst of being large farmers, it 
entails so much work. By Jove ! Iredale doesn’t 
work like we * moss-backs ’ have to, and he’s made a 
fortune. I guess if there were a Mrs. George Iredale 
she’d have a bully time. No cheese- or butter-making, 
eh, sis ? ” And, with a grin, Hervey turned on his 
heel, and, passing up the steps, walked away towards 
the barn. 

Prudence waited until her brother had disappeared 
within the stables; then she locked up. As she 
turned from the door she heard her mother’s voice 
calling. 

“ Girl—girl, where are you ? ” 

“ Here I am, mother dear, at the creamery.” 

Mrs. Mailing trundled round the corner of the 
house. 

“ Prudence, there’s young Peter Furrer come over, 
and I haven’t time to stop and gossip with him. 
Like as not he don’t want to talk to a body like me, 
anyway. Just drop that skirt o’ yours, girl, and go 
and see him. A nice time o’ day to come a-courtin’. 
He’ll be a-follerin’ you to the grain fields when we’re 
harvesting.” 


144 the hound from THE NORTH 


Prudence smiled. 

“Never mind, mother. He’s come at an opportune 
moment. I want a messenger to go over to Lake¬ 
ville. He’ll do. Fm sending word to Alice Gordon. 
I want her to come here for the harvesting. Alice 
must get very sick of living at Ainsley, in spite of the 
fact of her beau living there. Fve a good mind to tell 
her to bring him out here. Shan’t be long, dear; 
Fll join you directly. Where are you? In the wash¬ 
house ? ” 

The girl ran off, letting her skirt fall as she went. 
The mother passed on to the wash-house, muttering 
to herself as she went. 

“ La, if he were only like her. But there, the Lord 
ordains, and them as brings their offspring into the 
world must abide the racket. But it goes hard with 
a man about the house who idles. Mussy-a-me, he 
ain’t like his poor father. And I’m not goin’ to give 
him no extra dollars to fling around in Winnipeg. 
He’s too fond of loose company.” 

The old lady continued to mutter audibly until she 
reached the wash-house door, where she disappeared 
just as the object of her thoughts led his horse out of 
the barn, jumped on its back, and rode away. 

It was noon when Hervey reached Owl Hoot. 
He had been there several times lately, sometimes 
at George Iredale’s invitation, but generally at his 
own. He had his own particular reasons for cul¬ 
tivating the owner of Lonely Ranch, and those 
reasons he kept carefully to himself. This unworthy 
son had only been at Loon Dyke Farm for little 
more than four months, and during that brief period 
he had plainly shown what manner of man he was. 


LONELY RANCH AT OWL HOOT 145 


Even the doting affection of his mother had not 
blinded that simple soul to his shortcomings. Each 
month since his coming he had steadily overdrawn 
his allowance to no inconsiderable extent. His 
frequent visits to Winnipeg had always ended in 
his return home with pockets empty, and an 
accumulation of debts, of which he said nothing, 
left behind him. Then came the inevitable request 
for money, generally backed up by some plausible 
excuse, and Hephzibah’s cheque-book was always 
forthcoming on these occasions. But though, hitherto, 
she had not failed him, he saw by her manner that 
the time was not far distant when her sweet old 
face would become curiously set, and the comely 
mouth would shut tight, and the cheque-book would 
remain locked in her wardrobe, while he poured his 
flimsy excuses on stone-deaf ears. 

He understood his mother. She would do much, 
perhaps far too much for her children, but she would 
not allow herself to be preyed upon ; she was too keen 
a business woman for that. Besides, his accumulation 
of debts was now so great that all he was able to 
bleed her for would be but a drop in the ocean. In 
Winnipeg he posed as the owner of Loon Dyke Farm, 
and as such his credit was extensive. But now there 
were clamourings for settlements, and Hervey knew 
that gaming debts and hotel bills must be met in due 
course. Tradesmen can wait, they have redress from 
owners of property, but the others have no such means 
of repaying themselves, therefore they must be paid 
if he wished to remain in the district Now he meant 
to raise what he required from Iredale. He had 
recognized the fact that Iredale was in love with 

L 


146 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


Prudence, nor was he slow to appreciate the possi¬ 
bilities which this matter suggested as a money- 
raising means. Yes, Hervey intended that I redale 
should pay for the privilege of enjoying his sister’s 
society. Money he must have, and that at once. 

It was a wild, desolate region which he rode 
through on his way to Lonely Ranch. No one, find¬ 
ing themselves suddenly dropped into the midst of 
those wood-covered crags and clean-cut ravines, the 
boulder-strewn, grassless land, would have dreamed 
that they were within half-a-dozen miles of the 
fertile prairie-lands of Canada. It was like a slum 
hidden away in the heart of a fashionable city. The 
country round the mysterious Lake of the Woods is 
something utterly apart from the rest of the Canadian 
world, and partakes much of the nature of the 
Badlands of Dakota. It is tucked away in the 
extreme south-eastern corner of Manitoba, and the 
international boundary runs right through the heart 
of it. 

Lonely Ranch was situated in an abrupt hollow, 
and was entirely lost to view in a mammoth growth 
of pinewoods. Years ago a settlement had existed 
in this region, but what the nature of that settle¬ 
ment it was now impossible to tell. Local tradition 
held. that, at some far-distant period, the place 
had been occupied by a camp of half-breed “bad- 
men ” who worked their evil trade upon the south 
side of the American border, and sought security 
in the shelter of this perfect hiding-place. Be that 
as it may, it was now the abode of George I redale, 
rancher. He had built for himself a splendid house 
of hewn logs, and his outbuildings—many of them 


LONELY RANCH AT OWL HOOT 14; 

the restored houses of the early settlers—and corrals 
formed a ranch of very large dimensions. 

And it was all hidden away in black woods which 
defied the keenest observation of the passer-by. And 
the hollow was approached by a circuitous road which 
entered the cutting at its northern end. Any other 
mode of ingress was impossible for any beast of 
burden. 

As Hervey entered the valley and became lost to 
view in the sombre woods, he was greeted by the 
woeful cry of a screech-owl. So sudden and unex¬ 
pected was the ear-piercing cry that both horse and 
rider started. The horse threw up its head and 
snorted, and stood for an instant trembling with 
apprehension. Hervey looked about him keenly. 
He could see nothing but the crowd of leafless tree- 
trunks, and a bed of dry pine-cones which covered 
the surrounding earth. The owl was probably hid¬ 
den in the hollow of some dead tree, for there were 
many about. He pressed his horse forward. The 
animal moved cautiously, dancing along in its nervous 
apprehension. 

Presently another cry split the air. Again some 
owl had protested at his intrusion. 

So suddenly did the cry come that Hervey felt 
a slight superstitious quiver pass down his back, but 
he rode on. He had nearly a mile of the valley to 
travel before he came to the house, and, during the 
journey, seven times came the hideous screech of 
the owls. Now he began to understand why this 
place was called “ Owl Hoot” 

It was with a feeling of relief that he at length 
saw the ranch through the trees, and he greeted 


148 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


I redale, who was standing in his doorway when he 
dismounted, with genuine pleasure. 

“Well,” he said, after shaking his host by the 

hand, “another mile of this d-d valley and I 

should have turned tail and fled back to the open. 
Why, you must have a regular colony of owls in 
the place. Man, I never heard such weird cries 
in my life. How is it that I haven’t heard them 
before when I came here ? ” 

I redale took his visitor’s horse. He was dressed in 
moleskin. Underneath his loose, dun-coloured vest 
he wore a soft shirt, and in place of a linen collar he 
had a red bandana tied about his neck. His head- 
gear was a Stetson hat. In this garb he looked 
much more burly and powerful than in the tweeds 
he usually wore when visiting at the farm. His 
strong, patient face was lit by a quiet smile. He 
was a man whose eyes, and the expression of his 
features, never betrayed his thoughts. A keen 
observer would have noticed this at once, but to 
such people as he encountered he merely appeared 
a kindly man who was not much given to talking. 

“ Colony of owls, eh ? ” he said, leading the horse 
in the direction of the barn. “ Those cries you have 
heard are what this cheerful place takes its name 
from. It only needs one cry to set the whole valley 
ringing with them. Had not the first creature seen 
you approach you might have reached your destina¬ 
tion without hearing one disturbing sound. As a 
rule, in the daytime, they are not heard, but at night 
no one can enter these woods without the echoes 
being aroused. When they begin to shriek there is 
no sleep for any one in my house.” 


LONELY RANCH AT OWL HOOT 149 


‘*So I should say. Well, never mind them now, 
we have other matters on hand. What coverts are we 
going to shoot over first } 

Hervey had followed his host to the stable. A 
strange-looking little creature came from the obscurity 
within. He was an undersized man with a small 
face, which seemed somehow to have shrivelled up 
like a dead leaf He had a pair of the smallest eyes 
Hervey had ever seen, and not a vestige of hair on 
his face. His head was covered with a crown of 
bristly grey hair that seemed to grow in patches, 
and his feet were both turned in one direction—to 
the right. 

“ Take this plug and give him a rub down, Chintz,” 
said Iredale. “ When he’s cool, water and feed him. 
Mr. Mailing won’t need him until about eight o’clock.” 

Then he turned towards the house. 

“ He don’t waste words,” observed Hervey, indi¬ 
cating the man, who had silently disappeared into the 
stable, taking the horse with him. 

“ No; he’s dumb,” replied Iredale. “ He’s my head 
boy.” 

‘‘ Boy?” 

“Yes. Sixty-two.” 

The two men passed into Iredale’s sitting-room. 
It was plainly but comfortably furnished in a typical 
bachelor manner. There were more signs of the 
owner’s sporting propensities in the room than any¬ 
thing else, the walls being arranged with gun-racks, 
fishing-tackle, and trophies of the chase. 

“ We’ll draw the bush on the other side of the 
Front Hill, otherwise known as the * Haunted Hill,’” 
said Iredale, pointing to a gun-rack. “Select your 


ISO THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 

weapon. I should take a mixed bore—ten and 
twelve. We may need both. There are some geese 
in a swamp over that way. The cartridges are in the 
book-case; help yourself to a good supply, and one 
of those haversacks.*' 

Hervey did as his host suggested. 

“ Why ‘ Haunted Hill * ? ” he asked curiously. 

Iredale shrugged. 

“ By reason of a little graveyard on the side of it. 
Evidently where the early settlers buried their dead. 
It is a local name given, I suppose, by the prairie folk 
of your neighbourhood. Come on." 

The two men set out. Nor did they return until 
six o’clock. Their shoot was productive of a splendid 
bag—prairie chicken and geese. Both men were 
excellent shots. Iredale was perhaps the better of 
the two, at least his bag numbered two brace more 
than that of his companion ; but then, as Hervey told 
himself, he was using a strange gun, whilst Iredale 
was using the weapon he most favoured. Supper 
was prepared by the time they returned to the house. 
Iredale, healthily hungry and calmly contented, sat 
down to the meal; Hervey, famished by his unusual 
exercise, joined him in the loudest of good spirits. 

Towards the close of the meal, when the whisky- 
and-water Hervey had liberally primed himself with 
had had due effect, he broached the subject that 
was ever uppermost in his thoughts. He began 
expansively— 

“ You know, George,"—he had already adopted the 
familiarity, and Iredale had not troubled to show 
disapproval, probably he remembered the relation¬ 
ship between this man and Prudence,—I’m sick of 


LONELY RANCH AT OWL HOOT 151 


farming. It’s too monotonous. Not only that; so 
long as mother lives I am little better than a hired 
man. Of course she’s very good,” he went on, 
as he noted a sudden lowering of his companion’s 
eyelids; “ does no end for me, and all that sort of 
thing; but my salary goes nowhere with a man who 
has—well—who has hitherto had considerable re¬ 
sources. It’s no easy thing under the circumstances 
to keep my expenses down. It seems such nonsense, 
when one comes to think of it, that I, who will 
eventually own the farm, subject, of course, to some 
provision for Prue, have to put up with a trifling 
allowance doled out to me every month ; it’s really 
monstrous. Who ever heard of a fellow living on 
one hundred dollars a month! That’s what I’m 
getting. Why, I owe more than five months’ wages 
at the Northern Union Hotel in Winnipeg. It can’t 
be done; that’s all about it.” 

Iredale looked over at the dark face opposite him. 
Nor could he help drawing a comparison between the 
man and the two ladies who owned him, one as 
brother, the other as son. How utterly unlike them 
he was in every way. There was not the smallest 
resemblance in mind, face, or figure. His thoughts 
reverted to Silas Mailing, and here they paused 
Here was the resemblance of outward form ; and he 
wondered what unfathomed depths had lain in the 
nature of the old farmer which could have communi¬ 
cated themselves in such developed form to the son. 
It was inconceivable that this indolent, selfish spend¬ 
thrift could have inherited his nature from Silas 
Mailing. No; he felt sure that some former ancestor 
must have been responsible for it. He understood 


152 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 

the drift of Hervey’s words in a twinkling. He had 
experienced this sort of thing before from other men. 
Now he did not discourage it. 

“A hundred a month on the prairie should be a 
princely—er—wage,” he said in his grave way. Of 
course it might be different in a city.” 

“ It is,” said Hervey decidedly. “ I don*t know, 
I’m sure,” he went on, after a moment’s pause. “ I 
suppose I must weather through somehow.” 

He looked across at Iredale in such a definitely 
meaning way that the latter had no hesitation in 
speaking plainly. He knew it was money, and this 
was Prudence’s brother. 

“ Got into a—mess ? ” he suggested encouragingly. 

Hervey felt that he had an easy victim, but he 
smoked pensively for a moment before he spoke, 
keeping his great eyes turned well down upon the 
table-cover. 

“ Um—I lost a lot of money at poker the last time 
I was in the city. I was in an awful streak of bad 
luck; could do nothing right. Generally it’s the 
other way about. Now they’re pressing me to re¬ 
deem the LO.U.s. When they owe me I notice 
they’re not so eager about it.” 

“ That’s bad ; I’m sorry to hear it.” Iredale’s eyes 
were smiling, whilst in their depths there was the 
faintest suspicion of irony. He was in no way 
imposed upon by the breadth of the fabrication. It 
was the old story. He, too, lit his pipe and leant 
back in his chair. “I hope the amount is not too 
overwhelming. If I can—er—be ” 

Hervey interrupted him eagerly. He brought his 
band down heavily upon the table. 


LONELY RANCH AT OWL HOOT 153 


“By Jove! you are a good sort, George. If you 
could—just a loan, of course—you see I can offer you 

security on my certain inheritance of the farm-” 

But I redale had no wish to hear anything about 
his future possibilities of inheritance. He interrupted 
him sharply, and his tone was unusually icy. 

“ Tut—tut, man. Never mind about that. In spite 
of your need of money, I hope it will be many a year 
before your mother leaves our farming world.’* 

“ I trust so,” murmured Hervey, without enthusiasm. 
“ How much will appease your creditors ? ” 

Iredale spoke with such indifference about the 
amount that Hervey promptly decided to double the 
sum he originally intended to ask for. 

“ Five thousand dollars,” he said, with some show 
of diffidence, but with eyes that gazed hungrily 
towards this man who treated the loaning of a large 
amount in such a careless manner. 

Iredale offered no comment. He merely rose from 
his seat, and opening a drawer in his bookcase, 
produced a cheque-book and a pen and ink. He 
made out a cheque for the amount named, and 
passed it across the table. His only remark was— 
“ Your luck may change. Pay me when you like. 
No, don’t bother about a receipt.” 

Hervey seized upon the piece of paper. He was 
almost too staggered to tender his thanks. Iredale 
in his quiet way was watching, nor was any move¬ 
ment on his companion’s part lost to his observant 
eyes. He had “ sized ” this man up, from the soles of 
his boots to the crown of his head, and his contempt 
for him was profound. But he gave no sign. His 
cordiality was apparently perfect. The five thousand 


154 the hound from THE NORTH 


dollars were nothing to him, and he felt that the 
giving of that cheque might save those at Loon 
Dyke Farm from a world of anxiety and trouble. 
Somehow behind that impassive face he may have 
had some thoughts of the coming of a future time 
when he would be able to deal with this man’s mode 
of life with that firmness which only relationship 
could entitle him to—when he could personally 
relieve Hephzibah of the responsibility and wearing 
anxiety of her worthless son’s doings. In the mean¬ 
time, like the seafaring man, he would just “ stand by.” 

“ I can’t thank you enough, George,” said Hervey 
at last. “You have got me out of an awkward 
situation. If I can do you a good turn, I will.” 
Iredale detected a meaning emphasis in the last 
remark which he resented. “Some day,” the man 
went on ; “but there—I will say no more.” 

“No, I shouldn’t say anything. These things 
happen in the course of a lifetime, and one mustn’t 
say too much about them.” The two men then 
smoked on in silence. 

Presently Hervey rose to go. It was nearly eight 
o’clock. 

“Well,” said Iredale, as he prepared to bid his 
guest good-bye, “we have had a good afternoon’s 
sport. Now you know my coverts you must come 
over again. Come whenever you like. If I am 
unable to go with you, you are welcome to shoot 
over the land by yourself. There are some grand 
antelope about the place.” 

“Thanks. I shall certainly come again. And— 
well, when are you coming over to us again ? I can’t 
offer you any shooting.” 


LONELY RANCH AT OWL HOOT 155 


“ Don’t trouble,” smiled Iredale. 

Hervey saw the “boy” Chintz leading his horse 
round. 

“You might tell your mother,” the rancher went on, 
“ that ril come to-morrow to read over that fencing 
contract she spoke about for her.” 

Hervey leered round upon him. 

“ Will it do if I tell Prue instead ? ” 

“Certainly not.” Iredale’s face was quite expres¬ 
sionless at that moment. “You will please do as I 
ask.” 

Hervey gulped down his chagrin; but his eyes 
were alight with the anger from which his lips 
refrained. He mounted his horse. 

“Well, good-bye, George,” he said, with a great 
display of cordiality. “ I hope those owls of yours 
will permit me to ride in peace.” 

“ I have no doubt they will,” replied Iredale, with 
an inscrutable smile. “ Good-bye.” 

Hervey rode away. The man he had left remained 
standing at his front door. The horseman half 
turned in his saddle as the bush closed about him. 

“Curse the man for his d-d superiority,” he 

muttered. “ I suppose he thinks I am blind. Well, 
Mr. Iredale, we’ve made a pleasant start from my 
point of view. If you intend to marry Prudence 
you’ll have to pay the piper. Guess I’m that piper. 
It’s money 1 want, and it’s money you’ll have to pay.” 

The mysterious owner of Lonely Ranch was 
thinking deeply as he watched his guest depart. 

“ I believe he’s the greatest scoundrel I have ever 
come across,” he said to himself. “ Money ? Why, 
he’d sell his soul for it, or I’m no judge of men of 



156 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


his kidney, and, worse luck, I know his sort well 
enough. I wonder what made me do it ? Not friend¬ 
ship. Prudence? No, not exactly. And yet—I 
don’t know. I think I’d sooner have him on my side 
than against me.” Then he turned his eyes towards 
the corrals and outbuildings which were dotted about 
amongst the trees, and finally they settled upon a 
little clearing on the side of Front Hill. It was a 
graveyard of the early settlers. “ Yes, I must break 
away from it all—and as soon as possible. I have 
said so for many a year, but the fascination of it has 
held me. If I hope to ever marry Prudence I must 
give it up. I must not—dare not let her discover the 
truth. The child’s goodness drives me to desperation. 
Yes—it shall all go.” 

His gaze wandered in the direction Hervey had 
taken, and a troubled look came into his calm eyes. 
A moment later he turned suddenly with a shiver and 
passed into the house. Somehow his thoughts were 
very gloomy. 


CHAPTER X 

THE GRAVEYARD AT OWL HOOT 

Prudence and Alice Gordon surveyed the wild 
scene that suddenly opened out before them. They 
had drawn their horses up to a standstill on the brow 
of no inconsiderable hill, and beyond stretched a 
panorama of strikingly impressive beauty. Nature in 
one of her wildest moments, verdant and profound, 
was revealed. 

Alice was a pretty girl, rather ordinary, and ever 
ready for laughter, which helped to conceal an under¬ 
current of serious thought. She was an old pupil of 
Sarah Gurridge’s, and consequently Prudence’s school- 
friend. But Alice lived in Ainsley, where, report had 
it, she was “ keeping company ” with Robb Chilling- 
wood, and now the two girls only met when Alice 
visited the farm at such seasons of the year as the 
present. 

“ Do you think it will be safe to go further ? ” asked 
Alice, in a tone of awestruck amazement “You say 
you are sure of the way. Would it not be better to 
turn off here and make for Lonely Ranch, and seek 
Chintz’s guidance ? There is time enough, and it is 
so easy to get lost” 

The girls had set out to visit Lonely Ranch, to 
157 


158 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


enjoy a ramble and a sort of picnic in the surrounding 
woods. I redale was away on business, and the two 
friends, availing themselves of the opportunity, were 
taking a day off from the duties of the farm. They 
had started with the intention of riding over and 
leaving their horses with Iredale’s man. Chintz, and 
then proceeding on foot. At the last moment Pru¬ 
dence had changed her mind and decided on a visit to 
the great Lake of the Woods, which was two miles 
further on to the south-west of the ranch. They 
carried their provisions in their saddle-bags, and had 
made up their minds to find some suitable break in 
the woods on the shore of the lake where they could 
tether their horses and idle the afternoon away. 

Instead of turning into the valley of Owl Hoot 
they had crossed the mouth of it, and were now at 
the summit of its eastern slope, gazing out upon the 
mysteries of the almost uninhabited regions beyond. 

“ Of course it’s safe, you silly,” said Prudence. 
“Why, suppose we were to lose ourselves, that old 
mare you are riding would take you home straight as 
the crow flies. Besides, I have no fancy for that ferret¬ 
faced Chintz becoming one of our party. We could 
never talk freely in front of him.” 

“ All right, then,” said Alice, with a sigh. “ You 
are leader of this expedition. Don’t the woods look 
gloomy ? And look out beyond. There seems to be 
no end to them. Shall we stop and have dinner here, 
and ride on afterwards ? ” 

“Certainly not, madam,” Prudence said briskly. 
“No shirking; besides, we want water to make our 
tea. There’s none here.” 

Prudence understood her friend’s fears, which were 


THE GRAVEYARD AT OWL HOOT 159 

not without reason. It was a simple thing to get lost 
in such a forest. But anyway, as she had said, the 
old prairie horses they were riding would carry them 
home should they mistake the road. There was 
really no danger. 

It was a gorgeous day. The sun was shining with 
unabated splendour ; as yet it wanted an hour to 
noon. The brilliant daylight was somehow different 
here to what it was on the prairie. The fierce sun¬ 
light poured down upon an unbroken carpet of dull 
green, which seemed to have in it a tinge of the black¬ 
ness of the heavy tree-trunks which it concealed 
beneath. The result was curiously striking. The 
brightness of the day was dulled, and the earth seemed 
bathed in a peculiar light such as a vault of grey 
rain-clouds above it bestows. The girls, gazing into 
the valley which yawned at their feet, were lo oking 
into a shadowed hollow of sombre melancholy— 
unchanging, unrelieved. 

Beyond stretched a vista of hills, growing steadily 
greater as the hazy distance was reached. Behind 
where they stood was the Owl Hoot valley and 
woodlands, equally sombre, until the prairie was 
reached. 

The moments passed, and they made no effort to 
move. They were both lost in thought, and looked 
out across the wild woodlands with eyes which beheld 
only that which was most profoundly beautiful. 
Prudence was enjoying the scene, the redolent air 
which rose from the woods below, the solitary grandeur 
of the world about her, with all the appreciation of a 
prairie-bred girl. Alice merely saw and marvelled at 
the picture before her. She was less enthusiastic, less 


i6o THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


used to such surroundings than her companion. They 
affected her differently. She marvelled, she wondered, 
but a peculiar nervousness was inspired by what she 
beheld. At length Prudence took the initiative. She 
lifted her reins and her horse moved forward. 

“Come along, Alice,” she said. And the two 
disappeared down the slope into the giant forest 
below. 

Once on their way Alice recovered her good spirits 
again. Within the forest the world did not seem 
so vast, so confusing to the eye. On either hand, 
ahead, were to be seen only bare tree-trunks beneath 
the ponderous green canopy which shut out the 
sunlight from above. The scrunch of the pine-cones 
crushing under the hoofs of the horses carried a 
welcome sense of companionship to the riders. Alice 
found the reality much less fearful than the con¬ 
templation from the heights above. In a few moments 
both girls were chattering gaily, all thoughts of 
losing themselves, or of other dangers which these 
virgin forests might conceal, having passed from their 
minds. 

Whatever doubts may have assailed Alice they 
were soon set at rest, for, in a short time, after 
ascending another rather sharp slope, they found 
themselves gazing down upon a long, narrow sheet of 
water. It was one of the many inlets with which the 
shores of the mysterious Lake of the Woods abound. 
From where the girls first caught sight of it, it looked 
as though the forest had been cleanly rent by the 
glistening water which had cut its way into the dense 
growth, demolishing every sign of vegetation in its 
path, but leaving everything which grew even down 


THE GRAVEYARD AT OWL HOOT i6i 


to its very edge. This inlet widened out between two 
hills, and, beyond that, in a dazzling haze, the vast 
body of the lake, like a distant view of the sea, was 
just visible. It was a perfect picture. 

“ Isn’t it gorgeous? ” said Prudence enthusiastically. 

Isn’t it worth a few miles’ ride to see it? I’m glad 
we didn’t go and bother that horrid little Chintz. It 
would have taken half the pleasure away to have had 
his ferrety face with us.” 

“ Lovely—lovely,” exclaimed Alice rapturously. 
Her bright eyes were dancing with delight, and her 
breath came and went rapidly. “Just fancy, Prue; I 
have lived all these years within reach of this place 
and this is the first time I have ever set eyes upon 
the lake.” 

Her companion laughed. 

“ That is not to be wondered at. There are very 
few people who ever come this way. Why, I couldn’t 
say, unless it is that the country is bad to travel 
through on this side. Mind, although there are few 
habitations on the western shore, there are plenty to 
the east and south. I never could understand why 
George I redale selected Owl Hoot for the site of his 
ranch. Just think how delightful it would be to have 
your home built on this hill.” The girl indicated 
their position with her riding-whip. “ Wouldn’t it be 
delightful to wake each morning and gaze out upon 
such a scene?” 

“Perfect,” said Alice, whilst her eyes glanced 
mischievously in her friend’s direction. “ Summer or 
winter ? ” 

“Summer, of course, you goose,” exclaimed Prudence. 

“Of course; winter would be different, wouldn’t 

M 


i62 the hound from THE NORTH 

it?” Alice was laughing, but Prudence was quite 
serious. 

“ Yes; that’s the worst of all Nature’s finest handi¬ 
work. There’s always some drawback to it. Ugh, 
winter in this place would be too dreadful to con¬ 
template. These wilds are only fit for Indians and 
coyotes and wolves when the summer is over.” 

“ But it’s a heavenly spot now,” said Alice. Sud¬ 
denly she raised her whip and pointed. Far down, 
out upon the surface of the silvery belt of water, a 
tiny speck was slowly moving. At first so distant 
was it that it appeared to be stationary, but after a 
while it was distinctly to be seen moving. “ What 
is it?” she questioned sharply. 

“ Looks like a boat,” replied Prudence. “ I wonder 
whose ? ” 

“ I give it up. Does Mr. Iredale keep a boat?” 

Although Prudence was the elder of the two girls 
she was much the simpler. She was essentially of 
the prairie. She had no suspicion of the apparently 
innocent inquiry. 

“ I don’t think so. I never really heard. No ; I 
should think that must belong to some Indians or 
half-breed fishermen. There are some of those people 
about, I believe.” 

She continued to watch the boat for some moments. 
The less serious girl beside her allowed her attention 
to wander. Prudence saw the boat approach the near 
shore. Then it disappeared under the shadow of the 
towering pines. An exclamation from Alice drew her 
attention. 

“Look over the other side, Prue; there’s another 
boat It has just shot out from that great clump of 


THE GRAVEYARD AT OWL HOOT 163 

undergrowth. Why, there are a dozen people in it 
Look! they are racing along. Where’s the other 
gone ? ” 

“It disappeared under this bank. Ah, the other 
one is following in its wake. Yes, I should say those 
are Indians.” 

“ Let us go on down. We can see better from the 
bank. My curiosity is aroused. I didn’t know there 
was so much fishing done here. Mr. Iredale never 
speaks of it.” 

“I don’t think Mr. Iredale sees much of the lake. 
His land—that is, his grazing—lies to the west of the 
house. But he rarely talks about his work. As he 
says, so few people care about this wild district that 
he does not like to worry folks by reminding them of 
its existence.” 

“All the same,” replied Alice, “one of these fine 
days some enterprising American will come along 
and find out some, at present, unknown wealth in the 
place, and then the settlers round the district will 
kick themselves. Trust a Canuk for sitting down on 
his hundred and sixty acres and never moving beyond 
the limits of his fencing. I like this weird place, with 
its woods, its hills and valleys, its lake and its 
mysterious boats. You should draw Geqrge—I mean 
Mr. Iredale—out There must be a deal that is of 
interest here.” 

“Why should I draw him out?” asked Prudence 
innocently, as the horses ambled down the hill towards 
the shore of the lake. “ You ask him. I believe he’d 
like to tell some one all about it” 

“No, thanks, friend Prue,” said Alice cheerfully. 
“ I’m not what you might call a ‘ free agent’ There 


i64 the hound from THE NORTH 


is a young man, to wit, a certain Robb, who might 
object. Besides, I have not turned poacher yet’* 

“ What on earth do you mean ? ** 

Prudence turned a pair of astonished brown eyes 
on her companion. Alice didn’t answer, and the two 
looked squarely into each other’s faces. The elder 
girl read the meaning which Alice did not attempt 
to conceal, and a warm flush mounted quickly and 
suffused her sun-tanned face. 

Then followed a long silence, and the crackling of 
the pine-cones beneath the horses’ feet alone aroused 
the echoes of the woods. Prudence was thinking 
deeply. A thoughtful pucker marred the perfect arch 
of her brows, and her half-veiled eyes were turned 
upon her horse’s mane. . 

George Iredale. What of him ? He seemed so to 
have grown into her life of late that she would now 
scarcely recognize Loon Dyke Farm without him. 
This sudden reminder made her look back over the 
days since her return from “down East,’* and she 
realized that George, since that time, had literally 
formed part of her life. He was always in her thoughts 
in some way or other. Every one on the farm spoke 
of him as if he belonged to it. Hardly a day passed 
but what some portion of it was spent by him in her 
company. His absence was only when his business 
took him elsewhere. 

And what was the meaning of it all ? What was 
he to her that her friend should talk of “ poaching ** 
when regarding her own intercourse with this man ? 
Prudence’s face grew hotter. The awakening had 
come. At that moment she knew that George Iredale 
was a good deal to her, and she felt a certain maidenly 


THE GRAVEYARD AT OWL HOOT 165 


shame at the discovery. He had never uttered a word 
of love to her—not one, in all the years she had 
known him, and, unbidden, she had given him her 
love. In those first moments of realization her heart 
was filled with something like dismay which was not 
wholly without a feeling of joy. She felt herself 
flushing under the thoughts conjured by her friend’s 
implication, and her feelings became worse as Alice 
went on. 

‘‘Ah, Prue, you can’t hide these things from me. 

I have always intended to say something, but you 
are such an austere person that I was afraid of getting 
a snub. Mr. Iredale is a charming man, and—well— 
I hope when it comes off you’ll be very, very happy.” 

“ Don’t be absurd, Alice.” Prudence had recovered 
herself now. 

“ My dear Prue,” the girl retorted emphatically, and 
imitating the other’s lofty tone, “ George Iredale just 
worships the ground you walk on. One word of 
encouragement from you, if you haven’t already given 
it to him, and in a short time you will be the mistress 
of Lonely Ranch.” 

“ Nothing of the sort” 

“My dear girl, I know.” 

“You know less than you think you do, and I am 
not going to listen to any more of your nonsense.” 

Prudence touched her horse’s flank with her heel 
and trotted on ahead of her companion. But in her 
heart she knew that what Alice had said was true. 

Alice called after her to wait. The trees were so 
closely set that she had difficulty in steering clear of 
them ; but Prudence was obdurate and kept right on. 
Nor did she draw rein until the shore of the lake was 


i66 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


reached, and then only did she do so because of the 
impassable tangle of undergrowth which confronted 
her. Just as Alice came up with her she started off 
again at right angles to the direction they had come, 
riding parallel with the bank. Alice, breathless and 
laughing, followed in her wake, until at length a break 
in the trees showed them a grassy patch which sank 
slowly down in a gentle declivity to the water’s edge. 
By the time this was reached Prudence’s good-humour 
was quite restored. 

“ A nice dance you’ve led me,” expostulated Alice, 
as they dismounted and began to off-saddle. 

“ Serves you right for your impertinence,” Prudence 
smiled over at the other. 

** All the same I’m right.” 

** Now keep quiet, or I’ll ride off again and leave 
you.” 

‘‘ So you can if you like ; this old mare I’m riding 
will take me home straight as the crow flies. What’s 
that.? ” 

Out across the water came a long-drawn cry, so 
weird yet so human that the two girls stood still as 
statues, their faces blanching under their tan. The 
echoes seemed to die hard, growing slowly fainter and 
fainter. Alice’s eyes were widely staring and filled 
with an expression of horror. Prudence recovered 
herself first She laughed a little constrainedly, 
however. 

“We are in the region of Owl Hoot,” she said 
significantly. “ That was one of the screech-owls.” 

“ 0 -oh! I thought it was some one being murdered.” 

“We shall probably hear lots of strange cries ; 
these regions are renowned for them. You’ve got the 


THE GRAVEYARD AT OWL HOOT 167 


kettle on your saddle, Al. Get all the things out 
whilst I gather some kindling and make a fire" 

“ For goodness’ sake don’t leave me here alone for 
long,’’ Alice entreated. “I won’t mention George’s 
name again, sure.” 

But Prudence had tethered her horse and set off 
on her quest. Alice, left alone, secured her horse 
and proceeded to disgorge the contents of her saddle¬ 
bags, and also those on her friend’s saddle. This done, 
she stepped down to the water’s edge, and, pushing 
the reedy vegetation on one side, filled the kettle. As 
she rose from her task she looked out down the wide 
inlet. The view was an enchanting one. The wooded 
banks opposite her rose abruptly from the water, 
overshadowing it, and throwing a black reflection 
upon its still surface. There was not a breath of air 
stirring ; the world seemed wondrously still. 

Away to the left the water widened out, and was 
overhung by a haze of heat. She was about to turn 
away when, from out of the distance, there appeared 
another long boat. Instantly the girl was all atten¬ 
tion. This boat was not travelling in the same direc¬ 
tion as were those they had first seen, but was making 
for the point where the others had appeared. She 
had a much better view down here at the bank of 
anything moving on the lake than from the higher 
land, and she could not help being struck by the fact 
that, whoever the occupants of the strange craft, they 
were not Indians. One man was standing in the 
stern steering the boat by the aid of a long paddle, 
and this man was garbed in white man’s attire. The 
distance she was away from the object of her curiosity 
prevented her distinguishing the features of these 


i68 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


people of the lake; but that which was apparent to 
her was the fact that they were not fishermen, nor 
was their boat a fishing-boat. It was long, and 
built with the narrowness of a rice-lake canoe, and 
so low in the water that its gunwale looked to be 
within an inch of the glassy surface. 

So intent was the girl upon this strange appearance 
that she did not notice Prudence’s return, and as the 
strange craft disappeared within the undergrowth of 
the opposite shore, she turned with a start at the 
sound of her friend’s voice beside her. 

“ Another boat/* asked Prudence, “ or the one we 
saw before ? ” 

« Another.” 

There was a silence; then the two turned away and 
prepared their dinner. 

They pitched their camp in the shade, and the meal 
was quickly prepared. The smoke from their fire 
helped to keep off the few late summer mosquitoes 
that hummed drowsily upon the sultry air. Every¬ 
thing was wonderfully peaceful and sleepy about 
their little encampment. Not a leaf stirred or a 
bough creaked; there was the stillness of death over 
all. Gradually the silence communicated itself to 
the girls, and the pauses in their chatter grew longer 
and their eyes more thoughtful. Even their horses 
for the most part stood idly by. The green grass 
had but a passing attraction for them. They nibbled 
at it occasionally, it is true, but with apparently 
little appetite. After dinner the two friends spread 
their saddle-blankets upon the grass, and stretched 
themselves thereon in attitudes of comfort, from 
which they could look out across the shining surface 



THE GRAVEYARD AT OWL HOOT 169 

of the lake; and soon their talk almost entirely 
ceased. Then, for a while, they lay dreaming the time 
away in happy waking dreams of the future. 

Alice had bridged for a moment the miles which 
divided Owl Hoot from Ainsley, and her thoughts 
were with her sturdy lover, Robb Chillingwood. She 
was contemplating their future together, that future 
which would contain for them, if no great ease and 
luxury, at least the happiness of a perfect love and 
mutual assistance in times of trial. Her practical 
mind did not permit her to gaze on visionary times 
of prosperity and rises to position, but rather she 
considered their present trifling income, and what they 
two could do with it. Now and again she sighed, not 
with any feeling of discontent, but merely at the 
thought of her own inability to augment her future 
husband’s resources. She was in a serious mood, 
and pondered long upon these, to her, all-important 
things. 

Prudence’s thoughts were of a very different nature, 
although she too was dreaming of the man whom 
her sudden realization had brought so pronouncedly 
into her life. Her round dark face was clouded 
with a look of sore perplexity, and at first the 
dominant note of her reflections was her blindness 
to the real state of her own feelings. Now everything 
was clear to her of the manner in which George 
Iredale had steadily grown into her daily life, and 
how her own friendly liking for him had already 
ripened into something warmer. He was so quiet, so 
undemonstrative, so good and kind. She saw now 
how she had grown accustomed to look for and abide 
by his decisions in matters which required more con- 


170 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


sideration than she could give—matters which were 
beyond her. She understood the strong, reliant 
nature which underlaid the quiet exterior. And now, 
when she came to think of it, in all the days of her 
grown womanhood he had ever been near her, seeking 
her society always. There was just that brief period 
during which Leslie Grey had swayed her heart with 
his tempestuous manner, for the rest it was Iredale. 
She tried to shut him out; to contemplate his removal 
from the round of her daily life. Instantly the picture 
of that life lost its brightness and colouring, and her 
world appeared to her a very dreary smudge of end¬ 
less toil. Yes, Alice had sounded the keynote, and 
Prudence’s heart had responded with the chord in 
sympathy. She knew now that she loved George 
Iredale. 

This realization was not wholly pleasurable, for 
with it came a sudden grip of fear at her simple heart. 
Her thoughts went back to some eight months before. 
And she found herself again looking into the death- 
chamber at the Leonville school-house. That scene 
had no longer power to move her; at least not 
in the way one might have expected. She no 
longer loved the dead man ; he had passed from her 
thoughts as though she had never cared for him. 
But a new feeling had sprung up in her heart which 
the realization of this indifference had brought. 
And this feeling filled her with an utter self-loathing. 
She shuddered as she thought of her own heartless¬ 
ness, the shallow nature which was hers. She remem¬ 
bered her feelings at that bedside as she listened to 
the dying man’s last words. Worst of all, she remem¬ 
bered how, in the paroxysm of her grief, she had 


i 


THE GRAVEYARD AT OWL HOOT 171 


sworn to discover the murderer of Leslie Grey and 
see justice administered. Now she asked herself, 
What had she done ? And the answer came in all its 
callous significance—Nothing ! 

She roused herself; her face was very pale. Her 
thoughts framed themselves into unspoken words. 

“ If this is the way I have fulfilled my promise to 
the dead, if this is the extent and depth of my 
love, then I am the most worthless woman on earth. 
What surety can I give that my love for George 
is a better thing than was my affection for Leslie 
Grey ? ” 

She sat herself up, she looked over at her com¬ 
panion and noted the drooping eyelids. Her features 
were strangely set, and her smooth forehead wore a 
disfiguring frown. Then she spoke in a sharp tone 
that startled the girl beside her. 

“ Alice, do you think it is possible to imagine you 
are in love with a man—I mean, that you honestly 
believe you love him at the time and really do not ? 

Alice endeavoured to collect her wandering 
thoughts. 

“ Why, yes, I suppose so. I’ve been in love with a 
dozen men at one time and another, never longer 
than a month with any one of them. I never go to a 
dance but what I fall in love with at least two of 
my partners, and my undying affection for both just 
lasts the evening out. Imagination is strongly 
developed in some people—when they’re young.” 

“ No, be serious.” 

Alice gazed at the other curiously. Then— 

“ Out with it. True. What is it that’s troubling you ? 
Your face is significant of some dire tragedy.” 


1/2 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 

“ How long have you been engaged to Robb 
Chillingwood ? 

“ Nearly six months. Why ? ” 

“ And you’ve never thought of any other man ? ” 

Alice shook her head. For once she was quite 
serious. 

“ Couldn’t look at another man. Robb hasn’t 
got two cents to his name, but I’m going to marry 
him or—or—die an old maid.” 

For a moment the expression of Prudence’s face 
relaxed, but a moment later it set itself into more 
stern lines than ever. 

“ Alice, you were right in what you said about 
George,” she went on slowly. “ I can hardly believe 
it myself yet. Leslie Grey has only been dead eight 
months, and yet here 1 am thinking all day long of 
another man. I believe I am utterly heartless— 
worthless.” 

“Well.?” 

“Well, it’s just this. I am not worth an honest 
man’s love. I used to think I worshipped the ground 
poor Leslie walked on—I’m sure I loved him to dis¬ 
traction,” the girl went on passionately. “ Very well; 
suppose George asked me to marry him and I con¬ 
sented. In all probability, in the light of what has 
gone before, I should be tired of him in a year, and 
then—and then- 

“You’re talking nonsense now, Prue,” said Alice. 
She was alarmed at the other’s tone. The beautiful 
face of her friend was quite pale, and sharp lines were 
drawn about the mouth. 

“ I’m not talking nonsense,” the other went on in 
a tense, bitter tone. “ What I say is true. In less 



THE GRAVEYARD AT OWL HOOT 173 


than eight months I have forgotten the dead. I have 
done nothing to discover the murderer who robbed 
me of a husband and lover. I have simply forgotten 
—forgotten him. Put yourself in my place—put 
your Robb in Leslie’s place. What would you have 
done ? ” 

Alice thought seriously before she answered. 

“ I should never have rested until I had avenged 
his death,” she said at last, and a hard glitter shone 
in her eyes. Then a moment after she smiled. “ But 
it is different. I don’t think you really loved Leslie 
Grey. You merely thought you did.” 

**That only makes it worse,” the other retorted. 
Prudence’s face was alight with inflexible resolve. 
“ My debt to the dead must be paid. I see it now 
in a light in which it has never presented itself to 
me before. I must prove myself to myself before— 

before-” She broke off, only to resume again with 

a fierce and passionate earnestness of which Alice 
had never believed her capable. “ I can never marry 
George I redale with Leslie’s unavenged death upon 
my conscience. I could never trust myself. George 

may love me now; I believe I love him, but- No, 

Alice, I will never marry him until my duty to Leslie 
Grey is fulfilled. This shall be my punishment for 
my heartless forgetfulness.” 

Alice surveyed her friend for some seconds without 
speaking. Then she burst out into a scathing 
protest— 

“You are mad, Prue,—mad, mad, utterly mad. 
You would throw away a life’s happiness for the mere 
shadow of what you are pleased to consider a duty. 
Worse, you would destroy a man’s happiness for a 


174 the hound from THE NORTH 

morbid phantasm. What can you do towards aveng¬ 
ing Leslie’s death? You hold no clue. What the 
police have failed to fathom, how can you hope to 
unravel ? If I were a man, do you know what I’d do 
to you } I’d take you by the shoulders and shake 
you until that foolish head of yours threatened to part 
company with your equally foolish body. You 
should have thought of these things before, and not 
now, when you realize how fond you are of George, 
set about wrecking two healthy lives. Oh, Prue, you 
are—are—a fool! And I can scarcely keep my 
temper with you.” Alice paused for want of breath 
and lack of vocabulary for vituperation. Prudence 
was looking out across the water. Her expression 
was quite unchanged. With all the warped illogical¬ 
ness of the feminine mind she had discovered the 
path in which she considered her duty to lie, and 
was resolved to follow it. 

“ I have a better clue than you suppose, Alice,” she 
said thoughtfully, “the clue of his dying words. I 
understood his reference to the Winnipeg Free Press. 
That must be the means by which the murderer is 
discovered. They were not horse-thieves who did him 
to death. And I will tell you something else. The 
notice in that paper to which he referred—you know 
—is even now inserted at certain times. The man or 
men who cause that notice to be inserted in the paper 
were in some way responsible for his death.” 

There was a moment’s pause. Then Alice spoke 
quite calmly. 

“ Tell me, Prue, has George proposed yet ? ” 

« No.” 

“ Ah I ” And Alice smiled broadly and turned her 


THE GRAVEYARD AT OWL HOOT 175 


eyes towards the setting sun. When she spoke again 
it was to draw attention to the time. As though by 
common consent the matter which had been under 
discussion was left in abeyance. 

“ It is time to be moving,” the girl said. ** See, the 
sun will be down in an hour. Let us have tea and 
then we’ll saddle-up.” 

Tea was prepared, and by the time the sun dipped 
below the horizon the horses were re-saddled and all 
was ready for the return journey. They set out for 
home. Alice was in the cheeriest of spirits, but Pru¬ 
dence was pre-occupied, even moody. That after¬ 
noon spent in the peaceful wilds of the “ back ” 
country had left its mark upon her. All her life— 
her world—seemed suddenly to have changed. It 
was as though this second coming of love to her had 
brought with it the banking clouds of an approaching 
storm. The two rode Indian fashion through the 
woods, and neither spoke for a long time; then, at 
last, it was Alice who ventured a protest. 

" Where are you leading us to, Prue ? ” she asked. 
“ I am sure this is not the way we came.” 

Prudence looked round ; she seemed as though she 
had only just awakened from some unpleasant 
dream. 

“ Not the way? ” she echoed. Then she drew her 
horse up sharply. She was alert in an instant. “ I’m 
afraid you’re right, Al.” Then in a tone of perplexity, 
“ Where are we ? ” 

Alice stared at her companion with an expression 
of dismay. 

“ Oh, Prue, you’ve gone and lost us—and the sun 
is already down.” 


176 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


Prudence gazed about her blankly for a few 
moments, realizing only too well how truly her com¬ 
panion had spoken. She had not the vaguest notion 
of the way they had come. The forest was very 
dark. The day-long twilight which reigned beneath 
the green had darkened with the shadows of ap¬ 
proaching night. There was no opening in view 
anywhere ; there was nothing but the world of tree- 
trunks, and, beneath their horses’ feet, the soft carpet 
of rotting vegetation, whilst every moment the gloom 
was deepening to darkness—a darkness blacker than 
the blackest night. 

“ What shall we do ? ” asked Alice, in a tone of 
horror. Then : “ Shall we go back ? ” 

Prudence shook her head. Her prairie instincts 
were roused now. 

“ No; come along ; give your mare her head. Our 
horses will find the way.” 

They touched the animals sharply, and, in response, 
they moved forward unhesitatingly. The old mare 
Alice was riding took the lead, and the journey was 
continued. The gloom of the forest communicated 
something of its depressing influence to the travellers. 
There was no longer any attempt at talk. Each was 
intent upon ascertaining their whereabouts and watch¬ 
ing the alert movements of the horses’ heads and ears. 
The darkness had closed in in the forest with alarming 
suddenness, and, in consequence, the progress was 
slow; but, in spite of this, the assurance with which 
the horses moved on brought confidence to the minds 
of the two girls. Prudence was in no way disturbed. 
Alice was not quite so calm. For an hour they 
threaded their way through the endless maze of 


THE GRAVEYARD AT OWL HOOT 177 


trees. They had climbed hills and descended into 
valleys, but still no break in the dense foliage above. 
They had just emerged from one hollow, deeper 
and wider than the rest, and were slowly ascending 
a steep hill. Prudence was suddenly struck by an 
idea. 

“ Alice,” she said, “ I believe we are heading for the 
ranch. The valleys all run north and south here¬ 
abouts. We are travelling westwards.” 

“ I hope so,” replied the other decidedly; “ we shall 
then be able to get on the right trail for home. This 
is jolly miserable. O—oh ! ” 

The girl’s exclamation was one of horror. A 
screech-owl had just sent its dreadful note in melan¬ 
choly waves out upon the still night air. It started low, 
almost pianissimo, rose with a hideous crescendo to 
fortissimo, and then died away like the wail of a lost 
soul. It came from just ahead of them and to the 
right. Alice’s horse shied and danced nervously. 
Prudence’s horse stood stock still. Then, as no 
further sound came, they started forward again. 

“ My, but those owls are dreadful things,” said 
Alice. “ I believe I nearly fainted.” 

** Come on,” said Prudence. “ After all they are 
only harmless owls.” Her consolatory words were as 
much for the benefit of her own nerves as for those 
of her friend. 

The brow of the hill was passed and they began to 
descend the other side. Suddenly they saw the 
twinkling of stars ahead. Alice first caught sight of 
the welcome clearing. 

“ An opening at last, Prue; now we shall find out 
where we are.” A moment later she turned again. 

M 


178 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


" A light,” she said. That must be the ranch. Quick, 
come along.” 

The blackness of the wood gave place to the star¬ 
lit darkness of the night. They were about to pass 
out into the open when suddenly Alice’s horse came 
to a frightened stand. For an instant the mare 
swerved, then she reared and turned back whence 
she had come. Prudence checked her horse and 
looked for what had frightened the other animal. 

A sight so weird presented itself that she suddenly 
raised one hand to her face and covered her eyes in 
nervous terror. Alice had regained the mastery of 
her animal and now drew up alongside the other. She 
looked, and the sharp catching of her breath told of 
what she saw. Suddenly she gripped Prudence’s arm 
and drew the girl’s hand from before her face. 

“ Keep quiet, Prue,” she whispered. “ What is this 
place ? ” 

" The Owl Hoot graveyard. This is the Haunted 
Hill.” 

“ And those ? ” Alice was pointing fearfully towards 
the clearing. 

“ Are- Oh, come away, I can’t stand it” 

But neither girl made a move to go. Their eyes 
were fixed in a gaze of burning fascination upon the 
scene before them. Dark, almost black, the surround¬ 
ing woods threw up in relief the clearing lit by the 
stars. But even so the scene was indistinct and un¬ 
certain. A low broken fence surrounded a small patch 
of ground, in the middle of which stood a ruined 
log-hut Round the centre were scattered half-a- 
dozen or more tumbled wooden crosses, planted each 
in the centre of an elongated mound of earth. Here 



THE GRAVEYARD AT OWL HOOT 179 


and there a slab of stone marked the grave of some 
dead-and-gone resident of Owl Hoot, and a few 
shrubs had sprung up as though to further indicate 
these obscure monuments. But it was not these 
things which had filled the spectators with such 
horror. It was the crowd of silent flitting figures 
that seemed to come from out of one of the stone- 
marked graves, and pass, in regular procession, in 
amongst the ruins of the log-hut, and there disappear. 
To the girls’ distorted fancy they seemed to be 
shrouded human forms. Their faces were hidden by 
reason of their heads being bent forward under the 
pressure of some strange burden which rested on their 
shoulders. Forty of these gruesome phantoms rose 
from out of the ground and passed before their wildly- 
staring eyes and disappeared amidst the ruins. Not 
a sound was made by their swift-treading feet. They 
seemed to float over the ground. Then all became 
still again. Nothing moved, nor was there even the 
rustle of a leaf upon the boughs above. The stars 
twinkled brightly, and the calm of the night was un¬ 
disturbed. Alice’s grip fell from her companion’s 
hrm. Her horse reared and plunged, then, taking 
the bit between its teeth, it set off down the hill in 
the direction of I redale’s house. The light which 
had burned in one of the windows had suddenly gone 
out, and there was nothing now to indicate the way, 
but the mare made no mistake. Prudence gave her 
horse its head and followed in hot pursuit. 

Both animals came to a stand before the door of 
the barn behind the house, where, to the girls’ joy, 
they found the ferret-faced Chintz apparently await¬ 
ing them. 


i8o THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


Alice was almost in a fainting condition, but 
Prudence was more self-possessed. She merely told 
the little man that they had lost their way, and asked 
his assistance to guide them out of the valley to 
where the trail to Loon Dyke Farm began. Such was 
the unexpected ending of their picnic. 


CHAPTER XI 


CANINE VAGARIES 

The last stage of the girls* journey—the ride home 
from the ranch—was like some horrible nightmare. 
It was as though recollection had suddenly turned 
itself into a hideous, tangible form which was pursuing 
them over the dark expanse of prairie. Even their 
horses seemed to share something of their riders’ fears, 
for their light springing stride never slackened during 
that ten miles’ stretch, and they had to be literally 
forced down to a walk to give them the necessary 
“ breathing.” Like their riders, the animals’ one idea 
seemed to be to reach the security of the farm with all 
possible dispatch. 

The farm dogs heralded their approach, and when 
the girls slid down from their saddles Hephzibah was 
at the threshold waiting for them. The rest of the 
evening was spent in recounting their adventures. 
Hephzibah listened to their narative, filled with super¬ 
stitious emotion whilst endeavouring to treat the 
matter in what she deemed a practical, common-sense 
manner. She was profoundly impressed. Hervey 
was there, but chose to treat their story with uncom¬ 
promising incredulity. So little was he interested, 
although he listened to what was said, as to rouse the 

i8i 


iS 2 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


indignation of both girls, and only his sudden departure 
to bed saved a stormy ending to the scene. 

It was not until the house was locked up, and 
Prudence and Alice were preparing to retire—they 
shared the same bedroom—that Hephzibah Mailing 
dropped her mask of common-sense and laid bare the 
quaintly superstitious side of her character. The 
good farm-wife had not lived on the prairie all her 
life without contracting to the full the superstitions 
which always come to those whose lives are spent in 
such close communion with Nature. She could talk 
freely with these two girls when no one else was 
present. She had heard a hundred times the legends 
pertaining to the obscure valley of Owl Hoot, but 
this was the first time that she had heard the account 
of these things from eye-witnesses. 

She came into the girls’ bedroom arrayed in a red 
flannel dressing-gown, which had shrunk considerably 
under the stress of many washings, and her night-cap 
with its long strings, white as driven snow, enveloped 
her head like a miniature sun-bonnet. She came 
with an excuse upon her lips, and seated herself in 
a rigid rush-bottomed chair. Prudence was brushing 
her hair and Alice was already in bed. 

“ My dears,” she said, as she plumped herself down; 
she was addressing them both, but her round eyes 
were turned upon Alice, who was sitting up in bed with 
her hands clasped about her knees, “ I’ve been think¬ 
ing that maybe we might ask young Mr. Chillingwood 
out here. It’s quite a time since I’ve seen him. He 
used to come frequent-like before—before—” with a 
sharp glance over at her daughter, “a few months 
back. He’s a good lad, and I thought as he’d make 


CANINE VAGARIES 


183 


quite a companion for Hervey. An* it ’ud do ’em a 
deal of good to air them spare rooms. I’m sure 
they’re smelling quite musty. What say?” 

Alice blushed and Hephzibah’s old eyes twinkled 
with pleasure. Prudence answered at once— 

“That’s a good idea, mother, I’ll write to him at 
once for you.” Then she turned her smiling face 
upon the old lady and shook a forefinger at her. 
“ You’re an arch-plotter, lady mother. Look at Alice’s 
face. That’s not sunburn, I know.” 

“Maybe it isn’t—maybe it isn’t,” replied Mrs. 
Mailing, with a comfortable chuckle, whilst her fat 
face was turned up towards a gorgeous wool-worked 
text which hung directly over the head of the bed, 
“though ril not say but what a day in the sun 
like she’s just had mightn’t have redded the skin 
some.” 

“ I am very sun-burnt,” said Alice consciously. 

“Why, we’ve been in the forest, where there’s no 
sun, nearly all day,” exclaimed Prudence quickly. 

“ Ah, them forests—them forests,” observed Heph- 
zibah, in a pensive tone of reflection. “ Folks says 
strange things about them forests.” 

“Yes,” put in Alice, glad to turn attention from 
herself, “ usually folks talk a lot of nonsense when 
they attribute supernatural things to certain places. 
But for once they’re right, mother Hephzy; I shall 
never disbelieve in ghosts again. Oh, the horror of 
it—it was awful,” and the girl gave a shudder of 
genuine horror. 

“ And could you see through ’em ? ” asked the old 
lady, in a tone of suppressed excitement. 

“No, mother,” chimed in Prudence, leaving the 


184 the hound from THE NORTH 


dressing-table and seating herself on the patchwork 
coverlet of the bed. “ They seemed quite—solid.” 

“ But they wore long robes,” said Alice. 

"Did they now?” said Mrs. Mailing, wagging her 
head meaningly. " But the lore has it that spectres is 
flimsy things as ye can see through—like the steam 
from under the lid of a stewpan.” 

"Ye—es,” said Alice thoughtfully. 

" All I can say is, that I wonder George Iredale 
can live beside that graveyard. I tell you, mother, 
there’s no arguing away what we saw. They came 
up out of one of those graves and marched in a 
procession into the ruined dead-house,” said Prudence 
seriously. 

"And my mare nearly threw me in her fright.” 
Alice’s face had paled at the recollection. 

Hephzibah nodded complacently. She was thoroughly 
enjoying herself. 

"True—true. That’s just how ’tis. Animals has 
an instinct that ain’t like to human. They sees more. 
Now maybe your horses just stood of a tremble, 
bimeby like? That’s how it mostly takes ’em.” 

Under any other circumstances the two girls would 
probably have laughed at the good lady’s appreciation 
of the supposed facts. But their adventures were of 
too recent a date; besides, they believed themselves. 
The gloom of the forest seemed to have got into 
their bones, and the horrid picture was still with 
them. 

" The Haunted Hill,” said Prudence musingly. " I 
don’t think I ever heard in what way the valley was 
haunted. Have you, mother ? ” 

" Sakes alive, girl, yes. It’s the way you have said, 


CANINE VAGARIES 


185 


with fantastic fixings added accordin’ to taste. That’s 
how it come I never believed. Folks disagreed about 
the spooks. They all allowed as the place was 
haunted, but their notions wasn’t just alike. Your 
poor father, child, was a man o’ sense, an’ he argued 
as plain as a tie-post. He said there was fabrications 
around that valley ’cause of the variating yarns, and 
I wouldn’t gainsay him. But, as Sarah says, when 
the washing don’t dry white there’s mostly a prairie 
fire somewheres around. Your father was that set on 
his point that he wouldn’t never go an’ see for himself, 
although, I do say, I urged him to it for the sake of 
truth.” 

Prudence yawned significantly and Alice had 
snuggled down on to her pillow. The former 
clambered in beneath the clothes. 

“ Well, mother, all I can say is, that never again, 
unless I am forced to, will I visit Owl Hoot. And 
under any circumstances I will never run the risk of 
getting benighted there.” 

“Well, well,” said the farm-wife, rising heavily to 
her feet and preparing to depart, “maybe George 
would like to hear about the thing you’ve seen when 
he comes back.” She paused on her way to the 
door, and turned an earnest face upon the two 
girls. “ Say, children, you didn’t see no blue lights, 
did ye?” 

“ No, mother Hephzy,” said Alice sleepily. “ There 
were no blue lights.” 

“ Ah,” in a tone of relief “ There’s no gainsaying 
the blue lights. They’re bad. It means death, 
children, death, does the blue light—sure.” And the 
good lady passed out of the room with the shuffling 


i86 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


gait which a pair of loose, heelless slippers contrived 
to give her. 

“ Prue,” said Alice, when the door had closed, 
“ when are you going to ask Robb to come ? ” 

“ As soon as possible, if you like.” 

“ Thanks. Good-night, dear; mother Hephzy is a 
sweet old thing.” 

The two girls turned over, and in a few moments 
were sleeping soundly. It would have taken more 
than the recollections of their adventures to banish 
sleep from their tired eyes. They slept the sweet 
refreshing sleep of those who have passed their 
waking hours in the strong, bracing air of the prairie. 

Two days later Hervey was abroad early. He 
was cleaning his guns outside the back door of the 
house. Two weapons were lying upon a large dust 
sheet which was spread out upon the ground. The 
guns were in pieces, and each portion had been care¬ 
fully oiled and wiped. He was now devoting his 
attention to a heavy revolver. 

Prudence was standing in the kitchen doorway 
watching her brother. Andy was over by the barn, 
superintending the dispatch of the teams to the 
harvest fields ; the hands were preparing to depart 
to their work. Prudence’s early morning work was 
in the creamery. 

Hervey looked up from the weapon he was cleaning, 
and turned his great eyes upon his sister. 

" When is this fellow coming out here ” he asked 
in a tone of irritation. His question was merely the 
result of his own train of thought. He had not been 
speaking of any one in particular. 

“ Who ? Robb Chillingwood ? ” 


CANINE VAGARIES 187 

** Yes, of course. IVe not heard of any one else’s 
coming.” 

“ We’ve asked him for a fortnight to-day. Why ? ” 

Hervey ran the cleaning-rod through a couple of 
the chambers of the pistol before he spoke again. 
The rag jammed in the barrel and entailed a hard 
pull to extract it. 

“ Who asked him to come ? ” he went on, as he 
re-adjusted the piece of rag in the eye of the rod. 

“ Mother did. He’s a very nice fellow.” Prudence 
looked over at the parade of “ Shire ” teams as they 
started for the fields. “ Alice and he are engaged to 
be married, you know.” 

“ And I suppose he’s coming out here to ‘ spoon ’ 
her—ugh ! It’s sickening.” 

“ Don’t be so brutal,” the girl replied sharply. 

“ Brutal ? ” Hervey laughed coarsely. “ You’re 
getting particular. The house won’t be a fit place 
to live in with an engaged couple in it. I should 
have thought mother would have known better than 
to have asked him.” 

“ Don’t be absurd.” 

Prudence moved from her stand. The dog, Neche, 
had slowly emerged from round the corner of the 
barn, and was now mouching leisurely towards her. 
She went over to meet him and caress his great ugly 
head. 

“ I’m not absurd.” Hervey followed her move¬ 
ments with no very friendly gaze. He hated with 
an unreasonable hatred to see her go near the dog. 

I know what engaged couples are. Look at the 
way some of the clowns around here carry on with 
their girls. When Mr. Robb Chillingwood takes up 


i88 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


his abode here, I shall depart, I tell you straight 
I think mother should have consulted me first But, 
there, I suppose that little vixen Alice arranged it 
all. I hate that chum of yours/* 

“ There’s nothing like mutual regard, whatever 
its quality,” laughed Prudence; but there was a look 
of anger in her deep brown eyes. “You are at 
liberty to please yourself as to your goings or 
comings—they make no difference to the work of 
the farm.” 

The girl’s face was turned defiantly upon her 
brother. Hervey spun the chambers of the pistol 
round. His eyes remained upon the weapon, and 
his forefinger pressed sharply upon the trigger. He 
looked thoughtfully over the fore-sight and rested 
the pistol in the crook of his upraised, bent left arm. 
His attitude was one of taking steady aim. He 
made no reply. 

Suddenly Prudence felt the bristling of Neche’s 
mane under her hand. And she sought to soothe 
him. This dog’s displays of sudden temper were 
as unaccountable as they were fierce. 

“ What are you going to do to-day ? ” she asked, 
as her brother did not speak and the dog quietened. 

“ Going over to I redale’s place. Why ? ” 

“ When shall you return ? ” 

“ Don’t know.” Hervey turned ; his pistol was 
pointing towards his sister. 

** Well, what about the ‘ thresher ’ ? You and Andy 
were going to get it- Look out! ” 

Her exclamation came with a shriek. The great 
husky had dashed from her side and made a charge 
towards its master. Its lips were drawn up, and its 



CANINE VAGARIES 


189 


fearful, bared fangs gleamed in the morning light 
Hervey lowered his weapon with a laugh. The dog 
paused irresolute, then, with a wicked growl, it 
turned back and sought again the girl’s caressing 
hand. 

“ One of these days I’ll give you something to 

snarl at, you d-d cur,” Hervey said, between his 

clenched teeth. Then he turned at the sound of his 
mother’s voice. The old lady was standing in the 
kitchen doorway. 

“What’s all the fuss about?” she asked, turning 
her round eyes from one to the other. “ Quarrelling 
again. I’ll be bound. Breakfast’s ready, so just come 
in, both of you, or the ‘ slap-jacks ’ ’ll all be spoiled.” 

Prudence glanced covertly in the dog’s direction 
as she obeyed the summons. She was fearful that 
the brute contemplated a further attack upon its 
master. In spite of the constant bickerings which 
took place between these two, the girl had no desire 
that her brother should be hurt. 

Hervey spoke not a word during the morning 
meal, except to demand the food he required, and 
his surliness had a damping effect on those about 
him, and it was with a sigh of relief that his mother 
at last rose from the table and began to gather the 
plates preparatory to clearing away. Once, as Hervey 
moved slowly towards the door to return to his guns, 
she looked as though she were going to speak. But 
the words died on her lips, and she ambled off to the 
wash-house without speaking. 

The atmosphere cleared when Hervey mounted 
his horse and rode off. His mother looked after 
him, sighed and shrugged; then she went on with 


190 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


her work with a touch of her old cheerful manner 
about her. No complaint ever passed her lips, but, 
to those who knew the kindly old face, the change 
that had come over it was very apparent The 
smooth forehead was ploughed deeply with wrinkles 
which were new to it, and the eyes had lost some¬ 
thing of their expression of placid content. 

But Hervey travelled his own road at his own 
gait. His thoughts he kept to himself. The man 
was more or less inscrutable to those about him. 

To-day he had taken his dog with him. He had 
at length made up his mind to rid himself of the 
brute. The exhibition of that morning had decided 
him upon a course which he had long meditated, but 
had always failed to carry out when the critical 
moment arrived. 

The hound limped along beside its master s horse 
as they plunged into the deep woods of the Owl 
Hoot Valley. Nor did he show the least sign of 
wishing to wander from “ heel.” He followed on 
the beaten track, stubbornly keeping pace with 
the horse in spite of the fact of only possessing 
three legs. 

Arrived at the ranch Hervey handed over his 
horse to Chintz and proceeded into the woods on 
foot. To-day he meant to move out in a new 
direction. The valley beyond the Haunted Hill 
had been done regularly by him ; now he was intent 
upon the hills on the south. Access to this region 
was obtained by the one other practicable exit from 
the valley; namely, the Haunted Hill, and then by 
bearing away to the right. He breasted the steep 
slopes of the hill and soon came upon the narrow 


CANINE VAGARIES 


191 

overgrown trail which at some period had been hewn 
by the early settlers of the district. 

Here he tramped along steadily, the hound limping 
at his heels. He walked slowly, with that long, lazy 
gait of a man accustomed to walking great distances. 
He gave little heed to his surroundings as far as the 
beauties of the place were concerned. He was not 
the man to regard Nature’s handiwork in the light 
of artistic effects. His great roving eyes were never 
still; they moved swiftly from side to side, eagerly 
watching for the indication of game either furred or 
feathered. It seemed as though this sport was as 
the breath of life to him. Now and again his gaze 
would turn upon the hound behind him, and, on 
these occasions, the movement was evidently the 
result of some sudden, unpleasant thought, and 
had nothing to do with the sportsman’s watch¬ 
fulness which makes him seek to discover, in the 
alert canine attitude, some keener instinct of the 
presence of game than is possessed by the human 
being. 

Almost without forewarning the road, after round¬ 
ing an abrupt bend, suddenly opened out on to the 
graveyard clearing. It was the first time in Hervey’s 
many wanderings in these regions that he had 
actually come across this obscure little cemetery. 
For a moment, as he gazed upon it, he hardly 
realized what it was. Then, as he noted the ruined 
hut in the middle, the wooden fencing broken and 
tumbled about the place, and the armless and sadly 
leaning crosses and the various-shaped slabs of stone 
which marked the graves, he remembered the weird 
story his sister and her friend had told, and, advancing, 


192 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


he leant upon one of the fence posts and looked 
about him curiously. 

He stood for some moments quite still. The place 
was silent with the peaceful calm of a sweltering 
August day. Hervey’s eyes moved from one vaguely 
outlined grave to another, and unconsciously he 
counted them. Thirteen graves in all were visible 
amongst the long grass. Then his eyes turned upon 
the ruined hut The roof had fallen in, and broken 
rafters protruded above the still standing walls of 
pine logs. The casing of the doorway remained, but 
the door had gone, and in its place hung a piece of 
tattered sacking. There was one small window, but 
this had been boarded over. The building was 
largely covered with lichen, and weeds had grown 
out of the mud-filling daubed in between the logs. 
There was something very desolate but wondrously 
peaceful about the place. 

The master’s curiosity seemed to have com¬ 
municated itself to the hound, for the animal slowly, 
and with uncertain tread, moved off within the en¬ 
closure. Neche’s movements were furtive ; strangely 
so. But though Hervey’s eyes now followed the 
dog’s actions, it was merely the result of the attraction 
of the one moving object within the range of his 
vision, and not with any purpose of his own. In 
fact, it is doubtful if, at first, the animal’s movements 
conveyed any meaning to the watching man. The 
moments slipped away and the dog snuffed in¬ 
quiringly at the various curious objects its wolfish 
eyes beheld. 

It stretched out its neck across one grave and 
snuffed at the projecting arm of a wooden cross. 


CANINE VAGARIES 


193 


Then it drew back sharply with its little upstanding 
ears twitching with a motion of attention and canine 
uncertainty. Then the wolf head was turned in the 
direction of its master, and its unblinking gaze was 
fixed upon his face. The animal stood thus with 
ears constantly moving, turning this way and that, 
listening for any strange sound that might chance 
upon the air. Then with a dignified movement, so 
expressive of ill-concealed curiosity, it turned away 
to continue investigations in other directions. 

The dog’s show of indifference only lasted for a 
moment. In limping towards the central hut the 
animal stepped on to the only path which was not 
overgrown with rank vegetation. The instant its 
foot touched the sandy soil its head went down until 
its nose touched the ground. Then followed a loud 
snuff. The dog’s great mane bristled ominously, and 
a low growl sounded significantly upon the still air. 
Now Hervey’s gaze instantly became one of keen 
intelligence. His thoughts no longer wandered, but 
were of the present. He watched the movements of 
the hound with the profoundest interest. 

The dog moved a step or two forward. Its atti¬ 
tude was as though it wished to make no mistake. 
The snuffing came short, quick and incisive. Then 
the great head was raised, and the snuffing continued 
upon the air. Now the nose turned in the direction 
of the hut, then it turned back to the opposite 
direction of the path. Hervey remained motionless 
where he stood, and his thoughts were filled with 
wondering speculation. 

Suddenly the dog darted off down the path, away 
from the hut There was something very like the 

o 


194 the hound from THE NORTH 


sleuth in its attitude. Nor did it pause until the 
path terminated at a stone-covered grave. Here the 
brute’s eagerness was displayed to the full. Its 
excitement was intense. The low growls became 
more frequent and tense. The bristling mane, so 
thick and wolfish, fairly quivered in its rigidity. 
Balancing itself on its one hind foot it tore away 
at the baked earth around the stone with its huge 
fore-paws, as though it would tear up the whole 
grave and lay bare the mouldering bones it contained 

Hervey encouraged the eager hound. 

“ See—ek ’em,” he hissed, in an undertone. 

The dog responded, making the earth fly beneath 
its sharp claws. The animal’s excitement had com¬ 
municated itself to its master, and the man’s great 
eyes glowed strangely. He now moved from his 
position and came over to the dog’s side. He 
stooped down and examined the place where the 
dog had been working. He pushed his fingers deep 
into the hollow which the vigorous claws had made. 
The next instant he drew them back sharply, and a 
faint ejaculation escaped him. He straightened him¬ 
self up and pushed the dog roughly away from the 
spot. 

“ Come here, you cur,” he muttered. “ Come over 
to the hut.” 

The dog obeyed with reluctance, and Hervey had 
to keep a clutch upon the beast’s mane to hold him 
to his side. He half dragged him and half led him 
up the path until they neared the ruin. Then with a 
bound the dog leapt forward and rushed in beneath 
the sacking which covered the doorway, giving tongue 
to little yelps of eagerness as he went 


CANINE VAGARIES 


195 


Hervey was about to follow, but a strange sound 
beneath his feet attracted him and made him pause. 
He listened. The noise went on. It was very faint 
but quite distinct, and very like the regular fall of a 
hammer. He called instantly to the dog. Neche’s 
head appeared from beneath the canvas, but he 
showed unusual signs of disobedience. Instantly, 
Hervey seized him by the mane, then, subdued and 
sulky, the animal allowed himself to be dragged from 
the building. Hervey did not relax his hold until he 
and the dog were well clear of the place, and were 
once more buried from view within the depths of 
the woods. 

For a moment, when the hound regained its free¬ 
dom, it stood still and turned its head back towards 
the place they had just left, but a threatening com¬ 
mand from the man brought him to heel at once, and 
there was no further bother. It was strange the re¬ 
lations which existed between this curiously-assorted 
pair. There could be no doubt that Hervey hated 
the dog, and the dog’s regard for its master was of 
doubtful quality. As a rule, it would fawn in a most 
servile manner, but its attitude, the moment its 
master’s back was turned, was always morose and 
even truculent Hervey had told his sister that the 
dog was as treacherous as an Indian. But Hervey 
was not a keen observer, or he would have added, 
“and as wicked as a rattlesnake.” 

The two tramped on all that day, but there was 
little shooting done. Hervey also seemed to have 
utterly forgotten his intention to shoot the dog. 
Time after time jack-rabbits got up and dashed off 
into the woods, but there followed no report of the 


196 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


gun. Prairie chicken in the open glades whirred up 
from the long succulent grass, but Hervey paid no 
heed, and when several deer trotted across the man’s 
path, and the gun remained tucked under his arm, it 
plainly showed the pre-occupied state of his mind. 

The truth was that Hervey was thinking with a 
profundity that implied something which must very 
nearly affect his personal interests. And these per¬ 
sonal interests, at the moment, centred round George 
I redale and—the graveyard. He had discredited 
the story the girls had told as he would discredit 
anything which pertained to the supernatural. But 
now he had learned something which put an 
entirely different meaning to the adventures the 
two girls had related. It is easy enough to mys¬ 
tify the simple human mind, but dogs’ instincts 
are purely practical, and, as Hervey argued, ghosts 
do not leave a hot scent Neche had lit upon a hot 
scent At first the man had been doubtful as to 
what that scent was. Graveyards on the prairie are 
places favoured by the hungry coyote, and he had 
been inclined to believe that such was the trail which 
the dog had discovered. But his own investigations 
had suggested something different 

The grave which the dog had attacked so furiously 
was no ordinary grave, for, in thrusting his hand into 
the hole the dog had made at the edge, he had found 
that beneath the stone was a cavity. Then had come 
the recollection of the faint pounding he had distinctly 
heard beneath the ground. And instantly the story 
the girls had related assumed a human aspect With¬ 
out hesitation he told himself that they had not seen 
spectres marching in procession through the mys- 


CANINE VAGARIES 


197 


terious graveyard, but real, live, human beings. What, 
he asked himself, was the meaning of it ? What 
strange occupation was George Iredale’s in this lonely 
valley? Where was Iredale now? Where did he go 
to when he moved out of the district on business, 
and what was the nature of the business ? To 
Hervey it was no great step from questions of this 
sort to a general answer. And, when he reviewed 
the isolation, the secret nightly doings, the unsuit¬ 
ability of the district to cattle-raising, and the great 
wealth of the owner, all made since his sojourn in 
the country, it was no difficult task for his thoughts 
to suggest some felonious undertaking. But the one 
question for which he could find no reasonable reply 
was that which asked the nature of the doings which 
seemed to go on at night in the shadow of those 
dense forests. 

He tramped on heedless of the passing time. His 
discovery had roused him to a pitch of excitement 
which swayed his thoughts in the direction they 
would naturally incline. In what manner could he 
turn his discovery to account? His sense of pro¬ 
portion quickly balanced his ideas. He must at all 
costs learn the secret of the graveyard, and if it was, 
as he believed, some “ crooked ” dealings upon which 
Iredale was engaged, the rest would be easy. All he 
wanted was money, and the owner of Lonely Ranch 
had plenty and to spare. 

The sun was quite low over the horizon when he at 
length turned his steps again in the direction of the 
ranch. He was hungry; he had eaten nothing since 
breakfast. 

Hervey was not the man to be disturbed by any 


198 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


scruples with regard to the hospitality of the owner 
of Lonely Ranch. He partook of the ample supper 
which Chintz had prepared for him without the 
slightest compunction. And when it was finished he 
idled the time away smoking one of Iredale’s best 
cigars with the utmost enjoyment. He watched the 
shadows grow and deepen. He waited until the blue 
vault of the sky had changed its hue to the inde¬ 
scribable shadow which follows in the wake of the 
daylight, and the sparkling diamonds of night shone 
out upon its surface ; then he called for his horse and 
set out ostensibly for Loon Dyke. 

He rode away down the valley until he was clear 
of the woods ; then, leaving the prairie trail, he turned 
away to the right, and, describing a wide semi-circle, 
doubled back into the woods again, taking a course 
which lay to the eastwards, parallel to the valley of 
the ranch. Now he quickened his pace, and the 
hound, limping laboriously at his horse’s heels, had 
difficulty in keeping up with him. Nor did he draw 
rein until he reached the wide hollow which backed 
the graveyard hill. Here, however, he dismounted, 
and secured his horse to a tree. Then he removed 
the reins from his horse’s bridle, and proceeded to 
secure the hound in an adjacent position. The night 
had quite closed in and the darkness of the woods 
was profound when he started to make his way up 
the side of the hill in the direction of the graveyard. 

Hervey paused for nothing. His mind was clearly 
made up. Whatever weakness may have been his 
there was none to be traced in his actions now. He 
saw ahead of him the possibilities of furthering his 
own interests, and he revelled in the thought of 


CANINE VAGARIES 


199 


George Iredale’s wealth. The despicable methods 
he was adopting troubled him not in the least. 
Iredale should pay dearly if his work partook of the 
nature of crime. 

Hervey entertained no friendship for any one. 
The greed of gold was his ruling passion. He cared 
nothing from whom it was obtained, or by what 
means. If things were as he believed them to be, 
then was this a truly golden opportunity. And he 
would bleed Iredale to the very limits of his resources. 

He reached the outskirts of the clearing, but he 
did not leave the obscurity of the forest. The black 
recesses served him for a hiding-place from which he 
could obtain a perfect view of the ghostly enclosure. 
The tumbled hut and the weirdly-outlined graves 
with their crowning monuments showed up distinctly 
in the starlight. And he settled himself for a long vigil. 

An hour passed without result. It was weary 
work, this waiting. He dared not move about, for at 
every movement of his feet upon the ground the 
rotting vegetation crunched and crackled loudly in 
the profundity of silence. The man’s patience, how¬ 
ever, was long-enduring under such circumstances. 
He told himself that the result would more than 
recompense him for the trouble. He had everything 
to gain, and the task appealed to him. Two hours 
passed and still not a sound broke the awful stillness. 
Then came the first sign. Suddenly a bright light 
shone out down in the valley in the direction where 
Iredale’s house stood. It gleamed luridly, almost 
red, in its depth of yellow. Hervey held his breath, 
so deep was his excitement and the feeling of antici¬ 
pation. 


200 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


The sudden appearance of the light was the signal 
for further demonstration. The prolonged screech of 
an owl replied to it. The screech, so shrill and ear¬ 
piercing, gave the watcher such a nerve-racking 
moment as to almost urge him to beat a hasty retreat. 
But the cry died away, and, as the echoes grew fainter 
and eventually became silent, he recovered himself. 
A moment passed and another cry split the air, only 
this time it came from across the valley on the 
opposite heights. Hervey stood with ears straining. 
He had detected something curious in the sound of 
those cries. Then as the second died away a single 
word muttered below his breath voiced his discovery* 

“ Human ! ” he said to himself, and a feeling of 
unholy joy swept over him, and he drew a pistol from 
his pocket and his hand gripped its butt significantly. 

His eyes were still turned in the direction of the 
house where the light was burning when a scraping 
noise suddenly drew his attention to the graveyard 
before him. The scraping continued, and sounded 
like the grinding of an axe upon a whetstone. It 
distinctly came from one of the graves, and, for a 
moment, he experienced a shudder of superstitious 
fear. The next moment he suppressed a chuckle as 
he realized that the sound came from the grave at 
the side of which Neche had made such a demonstra¬ 
tion that morning. He gazed in the direction, his 
great eyes burning with the lurid fires of pent-up 
excitement and speculation. What was the secret he 
was about to learn ? He longed to draw closer to the 
spot, but he knew that he dared not move. 

Suddenly a vague shadow loomed up from 
amongst the grass which grew so rankly in the 


CANINE VAGARIES 


201 


cemetery. Up, up it rose, black even against the 
background of utter darkness in which the forest was 
bathed. Hervey leaned forward, his eyes straining 
and every nerve tense-drawn. What was this— 
thing ? 

The shadow paused. Then it rose higher. It 
seemed to suddenly straighten up, and Hervey per¬ 
mitted a deep breath to escape him. The black 
figure had assumed the shape of a man, and the 
form moved forward towards the log dead-house. 
Then the waiting man saw that other figures were 
following the first in rapid succession. Each figure 
was bearing its burden. Some seemed to be carrying 
bundles, some carried that which appeared to be 
boxes, and others carried small square packages. 
As Hervey’s eyes became used to the strange scene 
he was able to distinguish something of the habili¬ 
ments of these denizens of the grave. He noted the 
long, dark, smock-shaped garment each figure wore, 
and, after a while, in the starlight, he was able to note 
that most of them wore on their heads little skull-caps. 
Then a muttered exclamation broke from his lips, 
and in his tone was a world of satisfaction. 

“ Chinese ! ” he whispered. Then : “ Traffic in 
yellow, by all that’s holy i ** 


CHAPTER XII 

THE BREAKING OF THE STORM 

The master of Lonely Ranch was seated before 
the table in his unpretentious sitting-room. Before 
him were piled a number of open account-books, and 
books containing matters relating to the business of 
his ranch. 

He was not looking at them now, but sat gazing 
at the blank wall in front of him with thoughtful, 
introspective eyes. His chin was resting upon his 
clenched hands, and his elbows were propped upon 
the table. He was sitting with his shirt-sleeves 
rolled up above his elbows, for the day was hot and 
the air was close and heavy. On one hand the 
window was wide open, but no jarring sounds came 
in to disturb the thinker. The door on the other 
side was also open wide. George I redale showed 
no desire for secrecy. His attitude was that of a 
man who feels himself to be perfectly safe-guarded 
against any sort of surprise. Thus he sat in the 
quiet of the oppressive heat thinking of many things 
which chiefly concerned his life in the valley of Owl 
Hoot. 

He had been going over the accounts which 
represented his fifteen years of labour in that quiet 
202 


THE BREAKING OF THE STORM 203 

corner of the great Dominion, and the perusal had 
given him a world of satisfaction. Fifteen years ago 
he had first settled in the valley. He had acquired 
the land for a mere song; for no one would look 
at the region of Owl Hoot as a district , suitable 
either for stock-raising or for the cultivation of 
grain. But he had seen possibilities in the place— 
possibilities which had since been realized even 
beyond his expectations. His sense of humour was 
tickled as he thought of the cattle he had first 
brought to the ranch—a herd of old cows which he 
had picked up cheap somewhere out West at the 
foot of the Rockies. He almost laughed aloud as 
he thought of the way in which he had fostered and 
added to the weird, stupid legends of the place, 
and how he had never failed to urge the undesir¬ 
ability of his neighbourhood for any sort of agri¬ 
culture. And thus for fifteen years he had kept 
the surrounding country clear of inquisitive settlers. 
Life had been very pleasant, quiet, monotonous, and 
profitable for him, and, as he thought of it all, his 
eyes drooped again to his books before him, and 
he gazed upon a sea of entries in a long, thick, 
narrow volume which bore on the cover the legend— 

OPIUM. 

Yes, he never attempted to disguise from himself 
the nature of his calling. He plastered neither 
himself nor his trade with thick coatings of white¬ 
wash. He knew what he was, and faced the offensive 
title with perfect equanimity. He was a smuggler, 
probably the largest operator in the illicit traffic of 
opium smuggling, and the most successful importer 


204 the hound from THE NORTH 


of Chinese along the whole extent of the American 
border. He knew that the penitentiary was yearn¬ 
ing for him; and he knew that every moment of 
his life was shadowed by the threat of penal servitude. 
And in the meantime he was storing up his wealth, 
not in driblets, dependent upon the seasons for their 
extent, but in huge sums which were proportionate 
to the risks he was prepared to run. 

And his risks had been many, and his escapes 
narrow and frequent. But he had hitherto evaded 
the law, and now the time had come when he 
intended to throw it all up—to blot out at one 
sweep the traces of those fifteen prosperous years, 
and settle down to enjoy the proceeds of his toil. 

It was only after much thought and after months 
of deliberation that he had arrived at this decision. 
For this man revelled in his calling with an en¬ 
thusiasm which was worthy of an honest object. 
He was not a man whose natural inclinations leant 
towards law-breaking; far from it. Outside of his 
trade he lived a cleaner life than many a so-called 
law-abiding citizen. The risks he ran, the excite¬ 
ment of contraband trade had a fatal fascination 
which was as the breath of life to him ; a fascination 
which, with all his strength of mind in every other 
direction, he was as powerless to resist as were the 
consumers powerless to resist the fascinations of the 
drug he purveyed. 

But now he stood face to face with a contingency 
he had never taken into his considerations. He had 
fallen a victim to man’s passion for a woman; and 
he had been forced to a choice between the two 
things. Either he must renounce all thoughts of 


THE BREAKING OF THE STORM 205 

Prudence Mailing, or he must marry her, and break from 
all his old associations. To a man of Iredale’s dis¬ 
position the two things were quite incompatible. The 
steady growth of his love for this girl, a love which 
absorbed all that was best in his deep, strong nature, 
had weighed heavily in the balance; and, reluctant 
though the master of Lonely Ranch was to sever 
himself from the traffic which had afforded him so 
much wealth, and so many years of real, living 
moments, his decision had been taken with calm 
deliberation; the fiat had gone forth. Henceforth 
the traffic in yellow would know him no more. 

He rose from his seat, and crossing the room 
stood gazing out of the open window. Finally his 
eyes were turned up towards the heavy banking of 
storm-clouds which hovered low over the valley. 

Already the greater portion of his plans had been 
carefully laid. They had been costly for many 
reasons. His agents were men who required to be 
dealt with liberally. However, everything had been 
satisfactorily settled. Now only remained the disposal 
of the ranch. This was rather a delicate matter for 
obvious reasons. He wished to effectually obliterate 
all traces of the traffic he had carried on there. 

He went back to the table and picked up an 
official-looking letter. It was a communication from 
Robb Chillingwood, written on the municipal note- 
paper of Ainsley. 

He read the letter carefully through. 

“My dear Mr. Iredale,” 

“ There is a man named Gordon Duffield 
stopping at the hotel here, who h^ lately fwrived 


2o6 the hound from THE NORTH 


from Scotland. I have effected the sale of the 
Dominion Ranch—you know, the German, Grieg’s, 
old place—to him. He is a man of considerable 
means, and is going in largely for stock-raising. He 
has commissioned me to buy something like five 
thousand head of cows and two-year-old steers for 
him. His bulls he brought out with him. You will 
understand the difficulty I shall have in obtaining 
such a bunch of suitable animals; and I thought you 
might have some surplus stock that you wish to 
dispose of at a reasonable price. You might let me 
know by return if such is the case, always bearing 
in mind when you make your quotations that the 
gentleman hails from old Scotia. There is shortly 
to be a great boom in emigration from both the old 
country and the States, and I am now combining the 
business of land agent with my other duties, and I 
find it a paying concern. Let me know about the 
cattle at your earliest convenience. 

“Yours truly, 

“Robb Chillingwood.” 

Iredale smiled as he read the letter over. 

“ Comes at an opportune moment,” he said to 
himself. “ Surplus stock, eh ? Well, I think I can 
offer him all the stock he needs at a price which will 
meet with the approval of even a canny Scot. I’ll 
write him at once.” 

He seated himself at his table and wrote a long 
letter asking Chillingwood to come out and see him, 
and, at the same time, offering to dispose of the stock 
of Lonely Ranch. He sealed the letter, and then 
returned his account-books to their hiding-place 


THE BREAKING OF THE STORM 207 

behind the bookcase. Then he went to the door 
and summoned his head man. 

In spite of the habit of years, Iredale was not with¬ 
out a strong sense of relief as he reviewed the 
progress of the disestablishment of the ranch. He 
remembered how narrowly he had escaped from 
Leslie Grey less than a year ago, and now that he had 
begun to burn his boats he was eager to get through 
with the process. 

The ferret-faced Chintz framed himself in the 
doorway. 

“My horse ! ” demanded his master. ‘‘ And, Chintz, 
I want you to take this letter to Lakeville and post it 
with your own hands. You understand 

The little man nodded his head. 

“ Good ! ” Iredale paused thoughtfully. “ Chintz,” 
he went on a moment later, “weVe finished with 
opium. We retire into private life from now out— 
you and I. We are going to leave Owl Hoot. How 
does that suit you ? ” 

The little man cheerfully nodded, and twisted his 
face into a squinting grimace intended for a pleasant 
smile. Then his eyebrows went up inquiringly. 
Iredale took his meaning at once. 

“ I don’t know where we are going as yet. But 
you’ll go with me. I want you to remain my * head 
man. 

Chintz nodded. There could be no doubt from his 
expression that he was devoted to his master. 

“ Right. Send my horse round at once. I am 
going to Loon Dyke, and shall be back for supper.” 

The man departed, and the rancher prepared for his 
ride. 


208 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


When George I redale set out for Loon Dyke the 
valley was shrouded in the gloom of coming storm. 
But he knew the peculiarities of the climate too well 
to be alarmed. The storm, he judged, would not break 
until nearly sundown, and then it would only be short 
and sharp. In the meantime he would have reached 
the farm. There was a curious, unconscious rapidity 
in his way of settling up his affairs. It was as though 
some strange power were urging him to haste. This 
may have been the result of the man’s character, for 
he was of a strikingly vigorous nature. He had 
put the machinery in motion, and now he primed 
it with the oil of eager desire to see the work swiftly 
carried out. 

As his horse galloped over the prairie—he took the 
direct route of the crow’s flight—his thoughts centred 
upon the object of his visit. He saw nothing of the 
pleasant fields and pastures through which his journey 
took him. The threat of coming storm was nothing 
to him. For all heed he paid to it the sky might have 
been of a tropical blue. The ruffling prairie chicken 
rose lazily in their coveys, with their crops well filled 
with the gleanings of the harvested wheat fields, but 
he scarcely even saw them. All he saw was the sweet, 
dark face of the girl to whom he intended to put the 
question which women most love to hear; whether it 
be put by the man of their choice or by some one for 
whom they care not a cent. He had always longed 
for this day to come, but, until now, had never seen 
how such could ever dawn for him. It had been a 
great wrench to sever himself from the past, but his 
decision once taken his heart was filled with thankful¬ 
ness, and never had he felt so free from care as now. 


THE BREAKING OF THE STORM 209 


He realized all that a lover may realize of his own 
unworthiness, but he allowed himself no extravagances 
of thought in this direction. Prudence was a good 
woman, he knew, and he intended, if Fate so willed, 
to devote the rest of his life to her happiness. As he 
drew near to his destination his heart beat a shade 
faster, and doubts began to assail him. He found 
himself speculating upon his chances of success. He 
believed that the daughter of Hephzibah Mailing 
regarded him with favour, but nothing had gone 
before to give him any clue to her maiden feelings. 
He wondered doubtfully, and, in proportion, his 
nervousness increased. 

Out upon the trail, at a distance, he saw a horseman 
riding away from the farm ; he did not even trouble 
about the rider’s identity. The strong, reckless nature, 
concealed beneath his quiet exterior, urged him on to 
learn his fate. Nothing mattered to him now but his 
sentence as pronounced by the child of the prairie 
whose love he sought. 

There were three occupants of the sitting-room at 
the farm. Prudence and Alice Gordon were at the 
table, which was covered by a litter of tweed dress 
material and paper patterns. Prudence was struggling 
with a maze of skirt-folds, under which a sewing- 
machine was almost buried. Alice was cutting and 
pinning and basting seams at the other end of the 
table. Sarah Gurridge was standing beside the open 
window watching the rising of the storm. 

Conversation came spasmodically. The girls were 
intent upon their work. 

“ It’s all very well to have new dresses,” said Pru¬ 
dence, with an impatient tug at the material on which 

p 


210 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


the machine was operating, “ but I’m afraid half the 
pleasure of them is absorbed by the process of 'making.’ 
Oh, these endless seams ! And I don’t believe a single 
one of them is straight. I feel quite hopeless.” 

“ Cheer up, Prue,” said Alice, without looking up. 
She herself was endeavouring to set a wristband 
pattern upon a piece of stuff so that she could get the 
two bands out of barely enough cloth for one. “ You 
should use more dash when working a machine. 
When you are turning it, imagine you are driving a 
‘ through mail ’ to the coast and have to make up 
time. The seams will come all right.” 

“Yes ; and break cotton and needles, and—and land 
the engine over the side of a cut-bank, or run down a 
gang of plate-layers or something. There now, I’ve 
run clean off the cloth. I wish you wouldn’t talk so 
much.” 

The two girls laughed whilst they joined efforts in 
righting the catastrophe. 

“ Isn’t it getting dark } ” said Alice, when Prudence 
had once more settled to work. 

Sarah spoke without turning from the window. 

“ The storm ’s banking, child. The lightning is 
already flashing over Owl Hoot way. Hervey will 
only just escape it.” 

“ What did he want to go over to the ranch for ? ” 
asked Prudence. “He never seems to go anywhere 
else now. I should think Mr. Iredale will get sick of 
having him always round.” 

“My dear,” observed Sarah, with unction, “when 
two men enjoy destroying the harmless life which the 
good God has set upon the prairie, they never tire of 
one another’s society. Men who would disdain to 


THE BREAKING OF THE STORM 211 


black a pair of boots would not hesitate to crawl 
about in the mud and damp reeds of a swamp at day¬ 
break to slaughter a few innocent ducks. There is 
a bond amongst sportsmen which is stronger than all 
the vows made at any altar. Hervey’s delight in 
destroying life is almost inhuman. I trust he never 
shoots sitting game.” 

“ I should hope not,” said Prudence. “ I would 
never own him as a brother if he did. Hello, Neche,” 
as the door was pushed slowly open and the great 
husky limped heavily into the room. The animal 
looked round him in a dignified, unblinking way, and 
then came over to Prudence s side and leisurely curled 
himself up on the skirt of her dress. “ Say, old boy,” 
she added, looking down at the recumbent form, “ if 
mother comes in and finds you here you’ll leave the 
room hurriedly.” 

Alice laid her scissors down and looked over at 
her friend. 

“ Hervey seems quieter than ever lately. He won’t 
even take the trouble to quarrel.” f 

“ And a good thing too,” said Prudence shortly. 

Sarah turned and, surveyed the two girls for a 
moment, an amused exp»*es.sion was in her dreamy 
eyes. Then she turned back to the window as the 
first distant growl of the coming storm made itself 
heard. 

“ Hervey only quarrels when his mind is in a state 
of stagnation. The mind of a man is very like a 
pool of water. Let it stand, and if vurrodes with 
matter which throws off offensive odours. The 
longer it stands the worse state it gets into. Set 
the water in motion, turn it into a running stream, 


212 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


and it at once cleanses itself. Hervey’s mind has 
been lately set in motion. I have noticed the change.” 

“ He has certainly become less offensive of late,” 
said Alice. “ I wonder what has changed him.” 

“ Food for mental occupation,” said Sarah. 

“‘A life monotonous, unrelieved, breeds selfish discontent, 

Dead’ning a mind to lofty thought for which by nature meant.*** 

Prudence brought the machine to a standstill, and 
propping one elbow upon the table rested her chin 
upon her hand. 

“ I believe you are right. Aunt Sarah,” she said 
slowly. “ Hervey’s certainly found something which 
has set him thinking. I rather fancy I know—or 
can guess—what it is that has roused him.” 

The old lady turned from the window and gazed 
curiously at her pupil. She was keenly interested. 
The recreation of her life was the observation of her 
kind. Her logic and philosophy may not always 
have been sound, but she never failed to arrive some¬ 
where in the region of the truth. The recent change 
in Hervey had puzzled her. 

“He asked me yesterday to let him see that notice 
in the Free Press which appeared when Leslie was 
murdered,” Prudence went on. “ He also asked me 
what Leslie’s dying words were. He insisted on the 
exact words.” 

“ The storm will break soon,” observed Sarah. 
She had turned away to the window. 

“ I wonder,” said Alice; “ perhaps he has dis¬ 
covered-” She broke off meaningly. 

“ That’s what I think,” said Prudence. 

Sarah shook her head ; but what she meant to 


THE BREAKING OF THE STORM 213 


convey was uncertain, for she had her back turned 
and she said nothing at the moment. Prudence re¬ 
started her machine and Alice reluctantly bent over 
her patterns. Sarah moved back from the window. 
She saw a horseman galloping over the prairie in the 
direction of the house. She had recognized I redale. 

“Girls,” she said, her soft eyes turning on Prudence’s 
bent head, “I really think some one should be helping 
the mother. This is baking day.” Prudence looked 
up with an expression of contrition. “ No—no, not 
you, child. You stay here and get on with your 
fandangles and dressmaking. I’ll go and help her.” 

Without waiting for a reply she darted off. She 
had no intention of having her innocent little scheme 
upset. The moment after her departure the clatter 
of horse’s hoofs came in through the open window. 
Alice, looking up, saw Iredale dismounting from his 
horse. She jumped up to go to the front door. 

“ Here’s Mr. Iredale! ” she exclaimed. Then : “ So 
he’s returned home. I’m so glad. One scarcely 
knows the place without him.” 

She dashed out to meet him, and, a moment later, 
returned ushering him in. 

“ Mr. George Iredale,” she announced, with mock 
ceremony. Then she stood aside to allow him to 
pass, bowing low as he entered the room. She stood 
for a moment smiling upon the burly figure. She 
noted how the plain features lit up at the sight of 
the girl bending over the sewing-machine. Then she 
gave herself an obvious cue. 

“ I’ll go and call mother Hephzy,” she said, and 
retreated hastily to the bake-house. 

Iredale moved over to where Prudence was sitting. 


214 the hound from the north 


She had ceased work to greet him, but she did not 
rise from the table. Neche surveyed the intruder, 
grunted and closed his eyes again. Prudence was 
half inclined to resent Alice’s sudden departure. 
Alice was in her confidence ; she knew her feelings 
as regarded George I redale. She considered her 
friend’s action was unkind. 

“ You mustn’t let me disturb you, Prudence,” Iredale 
said in his low, pleasant voice. “ What is this ”— 
fingering the material—“a new fall dress? Wonderful 
how you can cope with the intricacies of the manu¬ 
facture of such things. It would be a very sorry day 
for me if I were left to cut my own coats.” He 
laughed nervously. 

Prudence detected an unusual eagerness in his voice, 
and something warned her that this man had come 
over that afternoon to see her alone. She joined in 
the laugh, but her eyes remained quite serious. 

“ When did you come back from town ? ” she asked, 
after a pause. 

“ I haven’t been to town. I’ve been across the 
border. My business took me into Minnesota.” 

“ Oh, I thought you had been to Winnipeg.” She 
stooped and caressed the great dog at her feet 

Iredale shook his head. A vivid flash of lightning 
shot across the open window, and a crash of thunder 
followed it immediately. The storm was breaking 
at last. 

‘ I’ll close the window.” Iredale moved across the 
room to do so. Prudence looked after him. When 
he returned he sat himself in Alice’s chair, having 
brought it nearer to the machine. Then followed a 
long silence while the machine rattled down a seam. 


THE BREAKING OF THE STORM 215 


The man watched the nimble fingers intently as they 
guided the material under the needle. The bent 
head prevented him seeing more than the barest 
outline of the girl’s cheek, but he seemed content. 
Now that the moment had arrived for him to speak, 
he was quite master of himself. 

“ Prudence,” he began, at last, “ I am giving up 
my ranch. I have been making the necessary 
arrangements. I have done with money-making.” 

“ Really.” The girl looked up sharply, then down 
again at her work. She had encountered the steady 
gaze of the man’s earnest eyes. “ Are you going 
to—to leave us ? ” She was conscious of the lameness 
of her question. 

“ I don’t quite know. That depends largely upon 
circumstances. I am certainly about to seek pleasant 
places, but I cannot tell yet where those pleasant 
places will be found. Perhaps you will help me.” 

How ? ” The seam swerved out into a great bow, 
and Prudence was forced to go back over it. 

“ Easily enough, if you will.” 

The girl did not answer, but busied herself with the 
manipulation of her machine. Her face had paled, 
and her heart was thumping in great pulsations. 
Iredale went on. He had assumed his characteristic 
composure. What fire burned beneath his calm 
exterior, it would have needed the discerning eyes 
of Sarah Gurridge to detect, for, beyond the occasional 
flashing of his quiet grey eyes, there was little or no 
outward sign. 

“ I have known you for a good many years, child; 
years which have helped to put a few grey hairs on 
my head, it is true, but still years which have taught 


2i6 the hound from THE NORTH 


me something which I never dreamed of learning out 
here on the prairie. They have taught me that such 
a thing as love exists for every man on this earth, 
and that somewhere in this world there is a woman 
who can inspire him with feelings which make the 
pettinesses of his own solitary existence seem very 
small indeed. I have learned that man was not 
made to live alone, but that a certain woman must 
share his life with him, or that life is an utterly worth¬ 
less thing. I have learned that there is but one 
woman in the world who can help me to the better, 
loftier aspirations of man, and that woman is—you, 
Prudence.” 

The girl had ceased to work, and was staring 
straight in front of her out of the window, where the 
vivid lightning was now flashing incessantly. As 
Iredale pronounced the last words she shook her head 
slowly—almost helplessly. The man had leaned 
forward in his chair, and his elbows rested on his 
parted knees, and his hands were tightly clasped. 

“ Don’t shake your head, dear,” he went on, with 
persuasive earnestness. “Hear me out first, and then 
you shall give me your decision. I know I am much 
older than you, but surely that disparity need not 
stand in our way. I dare say I have many more 
years of life yet left than lots of younger men. Besides, 
I am rich—very rich. With me you can live the life 
you choose. If you wish to stay here on the prairie, 
why, you shall have the most perfect farm that money 
can buy; if, on the other hand, you choose to see the 
world, you only have to say the word. Prudence, I 
kijow I am not a very attractive man. I have little 
to recommend me, and my life has not always been 


THE BREAKING OF THE STORM 21; 


spent as perhaps it should have been ; but I love you 
very dearly, and my future shall be devoted to your 
happiness. Will you be my wife ? ” 

There was a deafening crash of thunder which 
seemed to come from directly overhead. The dog 
started up with a growl. Then he stood looking up 
into the girl’s face. The dying reverberations slowly 
rolled away and left the room in deathly silence. 
The serious light in the girl’s eyes was augmented by 
the decided set of her mouth. She kept her face 
studiously turned from Iredale, who, observing with 
all the intuition of a man in deadly earnest, read in 
her expression something of what his answer was 
to be. 

“ Can you not—do you not care for me sufficiently?” 

The words contained such a world of appeal that 
Prudence felt herself forced to turn in his direction. 
She now looked squarely into his eyes, nor was there 
the faintest suspicion of embarrassment in her manner. 
The moment had come when she must choose between 
herself and her self-imposed duty. She knew that 
she loved Iredale, but—she checked something which 
sounded very like a sigh. She had listened to the 
precepts of Sarah Gurridge all her life, and, in con¬ 
sequence, she had learned to regard her duty before 
all things. She now conceived she had a great duty 
to perform. She felt so helpless—so feeble in the 
matter; but the voice of conscience held her to her 
mistaken course. 

“ I believe I love you ; I am sure I care for you 
very, very much, but-” 

“ Then you will marry me.” The man reached out 
to take her hand, but she drew it back. His eager 



2I8 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 

eyes shone in the stormy darkness in which the room 
was bathed. 

She shook her head. 

“ When Leslie Grey was murdered I made a vow 
that I would not rest until the murderer was brought 
to justice. My vow is unfulfilled. 1 could not marry 
you and be happy while this is so. Do you know 
what marriage with you would mean ? Simply that 
I should make no effort to fulfil my vow to the dead. 
I cannot marry you now.” 

Iredale was staggered by the woeful wrong-minded- 
ness under which he considered she was labouring. 
For a moment he could scarcely find words to express 
himself. 

“ But—but surely, child, you are not going to let 
this phantom of duty come between usOh, you 
can never do such a thing ! Besides, we would work 
together; we would not leave a stone unturned to 
discover the wretch who did him to death-” 

He broke off. Prudence answered swiftly, and the 
set of her face seemed to grow harder as she felt the 
difficulty of abiding by her resolve. 

“This is no phantom of duty, George. It is very 
much a reality. I cannot marry you—until—until-” 

Iredale was smiling now. The shock of the girl’s 
strange decision had passed. He saw something of 
the motive underlying it. Her sense of duty seemed 
to have warped her judgment, and, with quiet firmness, 
he meant to set it aside. 

“ And this is the only reason for refusing me ? ” he 
asked. He had become serious again ; he seemed 
merely to be seeking assurance. 

“ Yes. Oh, George, can’t you see how it is?” She 



THE BREAKING OF THE STORM 219 


gazed appealingly into his face. And the man had 
to keep a very tight hold upon his feelings. 

“I am afraid I am a little dense, child/’ he said 
gravely. 

“I must make you understand,” Prudence went 
on with nervous haste. Her conscience urged her 
forward, whilst her love prompted her to set aside all 
recollection of the dead and to bask in the love this 
man offered her. She was a simple, womanly soul, 
trying with all the strength of her honest purpose to 
resist the dictates of her love, and to do that which 
seemed right in her own eyes. The task she had set 
herself had seemed easy when she had spoken of it to 
Alice, but now in the face of this man’s love, in the 
face of her own self-realization, it seemed beyond her 
strength. “ Listen to me, and you will see for your¬ 
self that I must not marry you—yet. I believed that 
I loved Leslie Grey truly, fondly. As I look back 
now I am sure I did. I was never happy but when 
I was with him. He seemed so strong and resolute. 
I never had a moment in which to doubt myself. 
Then, when he died, the agony I suffered was some¬ 
thing too dreadful to contemplate. As he lay on the 
little bed with his life slowly ebbing, and I watched 
him dying by inches, I was filled with such horror and 
despair that I thought surely I should go mad. Then 
it dawned on me that he had been murdered, and my 
anguish turned to a dreadful feeling of rage and long¬ 
ing to avenge him. Never in my life did I experience 
such terrible passion as at that moment. I believe at 
the time I really was mad. The one thought in my 
mind was, ‘ Who—who has done this thing ? ’ Then 
Leslie died, and in his death agony he spoke and 


220 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


told me, as well as his poor gasping faculties could 
tell me, what had happened. His words were unin¬ 
telligible to every one except me. And those words 
formed a clue to the assassin’s identity. By his bed¬ 
side I swore to avenge him. Never would I rest until 
my oath was carried out. As you know, after that I 
became ill and went away. And, oh, the shame of it, 
during those months of rest and illness I forgot Leslie 
Grey, I forgot my vow. I forgot everything that 
claimed my duty. Think of it—the shame, the 
shallow heartlessness, the fickle nature which is mine. 
I, who had loved him as I believed no girl had ever 
loved, had forgotten him as though he had never come 
into my life.” 

Iredale nodded comprehensively as the girl paused. 

Then you came into my life,” Prudence went on. 
Her face was turned towards the window now, outside 
of which she saw the tongues of lightning playing 
across the sky. “ Time went on, and slowly something 
crept into my heart which made me realize my short¬ 
comings. Gradually my conduct was revealed to me 
in its true colours, and I saw myself as I really was— 
a heartless, worthless creature, so despicable, even to 
myself, as to make me shudder when I contemplated 
the future. Let me be honest now, at least. I knew 
that I loved you, George, that is ”—bitterly—“ as far as 
I was capable of love; but what sort of affection was 
mine to give to anybody ? I could not trust myself 
—I despised myself. My conscience cried out. 
Leslie’s unavenged death still remained. My vow 
was still unfulfilled. Knowing this, how could I 
believe in this new love which had come to me } No, 
I could not. And it was then that I saw what 1 must 


THE BREAKING OF THE STORM 221 


do. Before I could ever dream of love I must redeem 
the pledge I made at Leslie’s deathbed. That alone 
could restore my faith in myself. I know that it is 
almost impossible to convey to you all that I have 
thought upon the matter ; but, believe me, I can never 
marry while Leslie remains unavenged.” 

Tears stood in the girl’s eyes as she finished up 
her curiously twisted self-accusations. And the 
sincerity of her words was not to be doubted for 
a moment Iredale had listened wonderingly, and 
he marvelled to himself at the wonders of perspective 
in a woman’s mind. 

“ And you are prepared to undertake the matter— 
alone ? ” 

“ Mother is helping me—it costs money.” 

“Just so. But would not a man’s help be of 
greater importance than your mother’s ? Don’t you 
think that your husband’s assistance might help you 
far more? That it might be able to lighten the 
burden of this self-imposed labour. Tut, tut, child. 
Because of your vow it should not deter you from 
marraige, especially when your husband is not only 
ready, but most willing to assist you in clearing 
up the mystery, and avenging Leslie Grey. As 
regards the quality”—with a quiet smile—“of your 
regard, well, come, you love me, little girl, on 
your own confession, and if you have no graver 
scruples than you have offered, then you must— 
marry me.” 

Iredale leant forward and took the girl’s two hands 
in his. This time she made no resistance. She 
allowed them to rest in his broad palms, and, in spite 
of all her protests, felt ineffably happy. 


222 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


At last she drew them away and shook her head 
weakly. 

“ No, it is no good, George. You must not be 
burdened with my undertaking. I cannot consent 
to such a thing. It is only your generosity and 
kindness which make you look at the matter so 
lightly. You would regret your decision later on, 

and then- No, mother and I will see the matter 

through. We have already secured the services of 
the smartest detective in Winnipeg, and he is working 
upon the only clue we possess.” 

“But I insist,” said Iredale, with a smile which 
made his plain features almost handsome. “ And, 
Prue, I am going to tell your mother that you have 
engaged yourself to me, and that I am a new recruit, 
fortune as well, in the work. No—” holding up his 
hand as the girl was about to protest again—“no 
objections, sweetheart. And, before we go further, 
tell me of this clue.” 

Prudence smiled happily. She had done her duty ; 
she had laid bare her heart to this man. She had 
spared herself in no way. She had let him see, she 
told herself, the sort of girl she was. He still cared 
for her; he still wished to marry her. She bowed 
her will to his quiet decision. 

“ It is not much to go upon, but, as Deane, that 
is the detective, says, it is a decided clue.” 

She rose from her seat and walked over to a small 
work-table. At that moment the house shook to its 
very foundations with a dreadful crash of thunder. 
Neche, who had moved with her, leapt fiercely at the 
window as though flying at some invisible enemy. 
The girl called him to her side, then she stood 



THE BREAKING OF THE STORM 223 

trembling. Flash after flash of lightning blazed in 
the heavens, and she covered her eyes with her hands, 
whilst the thunder seemed as though it would rend 
the earth from end to end. Iredale was at her side 
in an instant, and his arm was about her, and he drew 
her head upon his shoulder. Instantly her nerve 
was restored, and, as the noise passed, she quietly 
released herself. Then, stooping, she opened the 
drawer of the table and produced a torn copy of the 
Winnipeg Free Press, She held out the paper and 
pointed to the personal column. 

“ See,*’ she said, with her index finger upon the 
second line of the column. “ ‘ Yellow booming—slump 
in Grey.* Those who are responsible for that 
message, whatever it may mean, are also responsible 
for Leslie*s death.** 

Iredale*s eyes were fixed with a terrible fascination 
upon the print. A breath escaped him which sounded 
almost like a gasp. His hands clenched at his sides, 
and he stood like one turned into stone. 

“ How—how do you know this ? ” he asked, in a 
tense, hoarse voice. 

“ Leslie said so with his last dying breath.** 

There came no answering word to the girFs state¬ 
ment. Iredale did not move. His eyes were still 
upon the paper. The silence of death reigned in 
the room. Even the storm seemed suddenly to have 
ceased; only was there the incessant swish of the 
torrential rain outside. 

“ That is the clue poor Leslie gave me.** 

“Ah!** 

“ What do you think ? ** 

“ You must give me time to think.** 


224 the hound from the north 


Iredale’s mouth was parched. His voice sounded 
strange in his own ears. For the moment he could 
scarcely realize his position. An overwhelming 
horror was upon him. Suddenly he turned. 

“ What is the date of that paper.? ” 

“ A few days before Leslie’s death. But this notice 
has appeared many times since—which will make 
our task the easier.” 

“ Yes, it will make our task the easier.” 

Another pause, which was protracted until the 
silence could almost be felt. Then Prudence spoke. 

“ You will stay to tea ? ” 

Iredale pulled himself together. 

“ No, I think not. The storm has passed, the rain 
is ceasing. I had better hurry back home. It will 
come back on us—the storm, I mean.” 

The girl looked out of the window. 

“Yes, I think it will. Oh, I forgot to tell you 
Hervey went over to see you this afternoon.” 

Iredale’s eyes turned sharply upon the girl. 

“ Ah, yes, I will go at once. I will call to-morrow 
and see Mrs. Mailing. Good-bye.”- 

He turned away and abruptly left the room. 
Prudence looked after him. She saw him pass out; 
she saw him go out by the front door and hurry 
down the little path which bisected the front garden. 
She saw him go round to the stables, and he seemed 
not to heed the rain which was still falling lightly. 
But it was not until she saw him riding away down 
the trail that she realized th^ suddenness of his de¬ 
parture and the fact that he hadn’t even attempted to 
kiss her. 

Iredale’s horse received little consideration at its 


THE BREAKING OF THE STORM 225 


master’s hands on that homeward journey. The 
animal was ridden almost at racing pace over the 
long ten miles of country. And all the way home 
the words the girl had spoken were running in his 
ears with maddening insistence— 

“ And when we find the author of those words we 
find his murderer.” 

She had virtually accused him of murder. For he 
alone was the author of those words in the paper. 
Truly his sins were finding him out 


Q 


CHAPTER XIII 


BLACKMAIL 

As Hervey entered the valley of the ranch he 
listened for the warning owl cries. To-day, however, 
there were none. He smiled to himself as he noted 
the fact, for he knew their origin; he knew their 
object. He understood that these cries were the 
alarm of sentries stationed at certain points to warn 
those at the ranch of the approach of strangers. He 
knew, too, that they were used as signals for other 
things. And he admired the ingenuity of I redale 
in thus turning the natural features of the valley to 
his own uses. Rain was beginning to fall in great 
drops, and the thunder of the rising storm had already 
made itself heard. He urged his horse forward. 

Few men can embark on a mission of hazard or 
roguery without some feelings of trepidation. And 
Hervey was no exception to the rule. He experienced 
a feeling of pleasurable excitement and anticipation. 
There was sufficient uncertainty in his mission to 
make him think hard and review his powers of attack 
with great regard for detail. There must be no loop¬ 
hole of escape for his victim. 

On the whole he was well satisfied. But he was 
not unprepared for failure. During his acquaintance 
226 


BLACKMAIL 


227 


with Iredale he had learned that the master of Lonely 
Ranch was not easily trifled with, neither was he the 
man to accept a tight situation without making a hot 
fight for it. It was just these things which gave 
Hervey the gentle qualms of excitement as he 
meditated upon the object of his journey. He 
thought of the large sums of money he had borrowed 
from this man, and the ease with which they had been 
obtained. He remembered the kindly ways and 
gentle manner of this reserved man, and somehow he 
could not get away from the thought of the velvet 
glove. 

But even as he thought of it he laughed. There 
was no getting away from the facts he possessed, and 
if it came to anything in the shape of physical 
resistance, well, he was not unprepared. There was 
a comfortable feeling about the heavy jolt of the six- 
chambered “ lawyer ” in his pocket. 

The valley seemed much more lonely than usual. 
The horrid screeching of the watchful sentries would 
almost have been welcome to him. The forest was 
so dark and still. Even the falling raindrops and the 
deep rolling thunder had no power to give the place 
any suggestion of life. There was a mournful tone 
over everything that caused the rider to glance about 
him furtively, and wish for a gleam of the prairie 
sunlight. 

At length he drew up at the house. There was 
no one about. A few cattle were calmly reposing in 
the corrals. There was not even the sharp bark of a 
dog to announce his arrival. As Hervey drew up 
he looked to see Iredale come to the door, for he 
knew the rancher had returned from his wanderings; 


228 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


but the front door remained shut, and, although the 
window of the sitting-room was wide open, there was 
no sign of any occupant within the room. He 
dismounted and stood thinking for a moment. Then 
he raised his voice and called to Chintz. 

His summons was repeated before the man*s ferret 
face appeared round a corner of the building. The 
little fellow advanced with no show of alacrity. 
Iredale had told him nothing about any expected 
visitor. He was not quite sure what to do. 

By dint of many questions and replies, which took 
the form of nods and shakes of the head on the part 
of Chintz, Hervey learnt that Iredale had gone over 
to Loon Dyke, but that he would be back to supper. 

“ Then I’ll wait for him,” he said decidedly. You 
can take my horse. I’ll go inside.” 

The head man took the horse reluctantly and 
Hervey passed into the house. 

For a long time he stood at the open window 
watching the storm. How it raged over the valley! 
The rain came down in one steady, hissing deluge, 
and the hills echoed and re-echoed with the crashing 
thunder. The blinding lightning shot athwart the 
lowering sky till the nerves of the watcher fairly 
jumped at each successive flash. And he realized 
what a blessing the deluge of rain was in that world 
of resinous timber. What might have been the 
consequences had the storm preceded the rain ? 
Hardened as he was to such things, even Hervey 
shuddered to think. 

Wild as was the outlook, the waiting man’s thoughts 
were in keeping with his surroundings, for more 
relentless they could not well have been. Iredale’s 


BLACKMAIL 


229 


money-bags should surely be opened for him that 
night before he returned home. He would levy a 
heavy toll for his silence. 

His great dark eyes, so indicative of the unrestrained 
nature which was his, burned with deep, cruel fires 
as he gazed out upon the scene. There was a 
profoundness, a capacity for hellishness in their 
expression which scarcely belonged to a sanely- 
balanced mind. It was inconceivable that he could 
be of the same flesh and blood as his sister, and yet 
there was no doubt about it. Perhaps some unusually 
sagacious observer would have been less hard to 
convince. Hervey was bad, bad all through. Pru¬ 
dence was good. Swayed by emotion the girl might 
have displayed some strange, hidden, unsuspected 
passionate depths, as witness her feelings at her dying 
lover’s bedside. Her rage at the moment when she 
realized that he had been murdered was indescribable. 
The hysterical sweep of passion which had moved her 
at that moment had been capable of tragic impulse, 
the consequences of which one could hardly have 
estimated. But her nature was thoroughly good. 
Under some sudden stress of emotion, which for the 
moment upset the balance of reason, a faint re¬ 
semblance to the brother might be obtained. But 
while Hervey’s motives would be bad, hers would 
have for their primary cause a purpose based upon 
righteousness. The man needed no incentive to sway 
his dispositions. He had let go his hold upon the 
saving rock, now he floated willingly upon the tide of 
his evil disposition. He preferred the broad road to 
Hell to the narrow path of Righteousness. It may 
not always have been so. 


230 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 

The storm abated with the suddenness of its kind. 
During Hervey’s long wait Chintz did not leave him 
entirely alone. Several times, on some trivial pretext, 
the little man visited the sitting-room. And his 
object was plainly to keep an eye upon his master’s 
unbidden guest. At last there came a clatter of 
galloping hoofs splashing through the underlay of 
the forest, and presently I redale pulled up at the 
door. 

Hervey watched the rancher dismount. And his 
survey was in the nature of taking the man’s moral 
measure. He looked at the familiar features which 
he had come to know so well; the easy, confident 
movements which usually characterized I redale; the 
steady glance, the quiet undisturbed expression of 
his strong face. The watching man saw nothing 
unusual in his appearance, nothing to give him any 
clue ; but Hervey was not a keen observer. Only 
the most apparent change would have been seen by 
him ; the subtler indications of a disturbed mind were 
beyond his ken. Iredale seemed to be merely the 
I redale he knew, and as he watched his lips parted 
with a sucking sound such as the gourmand might 
make in contemplating a succulent dish. 

Iredale came in. Hervey met him at the door of 
the sitting-room, and his greeting was cordial, even 
effusive. 

“ How are you, George? I knew you were to be 
back to-day. Jolly glad you’ve returned. Quite 
missed you, you know. By Jove! what a storm. 
Wet?” 

“ A bit; nothing to speak of. They told me at 
the farm you were over here.” 


BLACKMAIL 


231 

Iredale looked quickly round the room. His survey 
was not lost upon his visitor. Then he went on— 

“ Chintz looked after you ? Had any refreshment ? 
Whisky?” 

“ Chintz looked after me! He looked in every now 
and then to see what I was doing.” Hervey laughed 
unpleasantly. “Yes, I can do with a gentle ‘four- 
fingers *; thanks.” 

Iredale produced a decanter and glasses and a 
carafe of water. Then he excused himself while he 
went to change his clothes. While he was gone 
Hervey helped himself to a liberal measure of the 
spirit. He felt that it would be beneficial just then. 
His host’s unconcerned manner was a little discon¬ 
certing. The rancher seemed much harder to tackle 
when he was present. 

Presently Iredale returned, and, seating himself in 
a deck-chair, produced a pipe, and pushed his tobacco 
jar over to his visitor. He was wondering what 
Hervey had come over for. He had no wish for his 
company just then. He had hoped to spend this 
evening alone. His mind was still in a state of 
feverish turmoil. However, he decided that he would 
get rid of the man as quickly as the laws of hospitality 
would allow. 

A silence fell whilst the rancher waited to hear the 
object of the visit. The other refused to smoke, but 
Iredale lit his pipe and smoked solemnly. His face 
was, if possible, more serious than usual. His eyes 
he kept half veiled. Hervey cast about in his mind 
for the opening of his attack. He seated himself on 
the edge of the table and looked out of the window. 
He raised his eyes to the leaden sky, then he withdrew 


232 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


his gaze and looked upon the floor. He swung one 
leg to and fro, as he leant sideways and supported his 
attitude with a hand resting upon the table. At 
length, as the silence continued, and Iredale pre¬ 
sently raised his eyes and stared straight at him, he 
turned to the decanter and helped himself to another 
drink. Then he set his glass down with a heavy 
hand. 

Good tack, that,” he observed. “ By the bye, where 
have all your owls departed to? Are they like the 
ducks, merely come, pause, and proceed on their 
migratory way? Or perhaps”—with a leer—“they only 
stand on sentry in the valley when—when you require 
them to.” 

Iredale permitted the suspicion of a smile. But 
there was no geniality in it; on the contrary, it was 
the movement of his facial muscles alone. Hervey 
had touched upon delicate ground. 

“ Did they not welcome you with their wonted 
acclamation ? ” he asked, removing his pipe from his 
lips, and gently pressing the ash down into the bowl 
with his finger-tip. 

The other grinned significantly. He had plunged, 
and now he felt that things were easier. Besides, 
the spirit had warmed him. 

“ That’s a real good game you play, George, old 
man. The imitation is excellent. I was deceived 
entirely by it. It was only the other night that I 
learned that those fearful screech-owls were human. 
Most ingenious on your part. You are well served.” 

Iredale never moved. He smoked quite calmly. 
His legs were crossed and the smile still remained 
about his mouth. Only his eyes changed their ex- 


BLACKMAIL 


233 


pression, but this was lost upon Hervey, for they were 
half closed. 

“ I don’t think I quite understand. Will you ex¬ 
plain ? ” The rancher spoke very deliberately, his 
voice was well modulated but cold. 

Hervey laughed boisterously to cover a slight 
nervousness. This attitude of Iredale’s was embar¬ 
rassing. He had anticipated something different. 

“ Is there any need of explanation ? ” he asked, 
when his forced hilarity had abruptly terminated. 
“The only thing which puzzles me is that you’ve 
kept it up so long without being discovered.” 

There was a long pause. Then Iredale removed 
his pipe from his mouth, knocked it out upon the 
heel of his boot, and returned it to his pocket. Then 
he rose from his seat and stood squarely before the 
other. 

“ Don’t let us beat about the bush,” he said. “ I 
think plain speaking is best—in some cases. Now, 
what have you to say .? ” 

Hervey shrugged his shoulders. His dark eyes 
avoided the other’s gaze; the steely flash in Iredale’s 
grey eyes was hard to confront. 

“A good deal,” he said, with raucous intonation. 
“ The smuggling of Chinese and consequently opium 
is a profitable trade. There’s room for more than one 
in it.” 

“ Go on.” 

Iredale’s tone was icy. 

“ Of course I am not the man to blow a gaff like 
this. There’s too much money in it, especially when 
worked on extensive lines, and when one is possessed 
of such an ideal spot as this from which to operate. 


234 the hound from THE NORTH 


That was a positive stroke of genius of yours in 
selecting the graveyard as a hiding-place. I suppose 
now that place is honeycombed with cellars for the 
storage of—of—yellow. Must be, from the number of 
‘ yellow-devils ’ I saw come out of the grave the other 
night. My, but you’re slick, 1 redale ; slick as paint. 
I admire you immensely. Who’d have thought of 
such a thing } I tell you what, you were never in¬ 
tended for anything but defeating the law, George, 
my boy. We could do a lot together. I suppose 
you aren’t looking for a partner?” 

I redale’s face wore an almost genial expression as 
he replied. The rancher’s tones were so cordial that 
Hervey congratulated himself upon the manner in 
which he had approached the subject. 

“Well, to tell you the truth, I wasn’t,” he said. 
‘‘As a matter of fact, you must have seen me de¬ 
spatching my last cargo of—yellow. Why? Were 
you thinking of starting in the business ? ” 

“ That zs my intention.” 

“ Is ? ” 

“Yes, is.” Hervey’s tone was emphatic, and his 
attitude truculent. 

“Ah! are you prepared to buy this place?” I redale 
went on. “ I can easily hand you over my con¬ 
nection.” 

“ Buy ? ” Hervey thought this man was dense. 
“Why, I haven’t two cents to my name to buy 
anything with. No, I don’t think there will be any 
buying and selling between us, George Iredale.” 

“ Then what do you propose ? We may as well 
come to a definite arrangement” 

The rancher’s tone was peculiar. 


BLACKMAIL 


235 

“We’ll run this thing for all it’s worth. Hang to 
it as long as there’s a cent to be made.” 

Hervey helped himself to more whisky. His self- 
satisfaction was immense. He had not thought that 
Iredale would have been so easy to handle. 

“ Um. A very nice, comfortable arrangement—for 
you.” Iredale moistened his lips slowly. “ You’ll sup 
the juice while I squeeze the orange for you. No, 
friend Hervey, I’m not dealing.” 

“ But you must! ” 

“ Must > ” 

“ Yes ; don’t be a fool. It means more money to 
you, and I shall share in the profits.” 

“ If I wanted to make more money I could con¬ 
tinue in the business alone. I am not here to make 
money for you.” 

Iredale stared straight into the face before him. 
His grey eyes seemed to pierce through and through 
his companion. Hervey moved from his position. 
Iredale’s attitude was coldly uncompromising. 

“ Then you refuse my offer .? ” 

“ Most emphatically.” 

Hervey was inclined to show his teeth. However, he 
checked the impulse and spoke in a conciliating tone. 

“ There is another alternative. Your fortune is 
very large. I want fifty thousand dollars.” 

Iredale’s face relaxed into a genuine smile. 

“Your demands are too modest,” he said ironically, 
“Anything else ? ” 

The other’s eyes looked dangerous. The lurid 
depths were beginning to glow. 

“The money I am going to have before I leave 
here to-night” 


236 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


** Ah! blackmail. I thought so.” 

Iredale’s contempt was biting. 

“ Call it what you like, Mr. George I redale. I tell 
you this, you are in my power and you will have to 
buy my silence. You like plain speaking; and now 
you’ve got it. Refuse compliance, and I leave here to 
expose you.” 

“ Pooh,” said Iredale, leisurely turning to the window. 
“ Do you think I’m a babe.? How are you going to 
prove your charge ? Why, you must be the veriest 
simpleton to think I am unprepared. By the time 
you can bring the law about me there will not remain 
a trace of—my work. You can never bring your 
charge home.” 

“Ah, you think not.” Hervey’s words sounded like 
a snarl. The whisky he had drunk had worked him 
to a proper pitch. He had not done yet. His next 
shot was to be a long one and a bold one, and he was 
not sure where it would hit. He was not sure that it 
might not rebound and—but his was the nature 
which makes for success or disaster without a second 
thought. For him there was no middle course. His 
temperament was volcanic and his actions were largely 
governed by the passionate nature which was his. 
Iredale had not turned from the window, or he would 
have seen the evil working of that face. His own 
great, broad shoulders were set squarely before 
Hervey’s gaze, and the uncompromising attitude only 
added fuel to the latter’s already superheated feelings. 
“ Perhaps you might find it interesting to know that 
they are hot upon the trail of the man who shot 
Leslie Grey.” 

Iredale swung round like a flash. Nor were the 


BLACKMAIL 237 

storm-clouds which but now frowned in the heavens 
more black than the expression of his face. 

“You miserable hound ! ” he cried, his eyes spark¬ 
ling, and his jaw muscles fairly quivering with the 
force of his clenching teeth. “What hellish crime 
would you attempt to fix on me now ? ” 

Hervey grinned with all the ferocity of a tiger. 

“ I wish to fix no crime on you. I merely mention 
a fact. Leslie Grey was the only accuser of his 
murderer. He stated before he died that the man 
who inserted the notice in the paper which ran, 
‘Yellow booming—slump in Grey,' was the man who 
murdered him. 1 suppose you don’t happen to know 
who was responsible for that enigmatical line? You 
did not inspire it ? " 

The look that accompanied the man's words was 
fiendish. The great eyes shone with a savage light. 
They expressed a hatred which no words could 
describe. Iredale’s hands clenched and unclenched. 
His fingers seemed as though they were clutching at 
something which they longed to tear to atoms, and 
his thoughts centred upon the man before him. 

Twice that day he had heard this challenge. Once 
uttered in all unconsciousness of its significance, but 
now with hideous meaning. His powers of self- 
restraint were great, but he had reached their limit. 
This man had accused him of a dastardly murder. 
Suddenly his voice rang out through the room like 
the bellow of a maddened bulL His great figure 
quivered with the fury of his passion. Hervey had 
done his worst; now he shrank before the storm he 
had provoked. 

Out of my house, you scum I" Iredale roared. 


238 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


“ God! but if you stay here an instant longer, I’ll 
smash you as I would a louse.” 

The rancher stood panting at the door. His flash¬ 
ing eyes never left the face of the man before him. 
Hervey moved ; he hesitated. The grin had left his 
face and a look of dread had replaced it. Then he 
moved on, forgetful of all but his moral and physical 
fear of the commanding figure of enraged manhood 
that seemed to tower over him. He even forgot the 
weapon which lay concealed in his pocket. He slunk 
on out of the door amidst a profound silence, out into 
the soft twilight of the valley. 

The door stood open; the window stood open. 
Iredale looked after him. He watched the tall, droop¬ 
ing figure; then, as Hervey passed from view, Iredale 
turned back and flung himself into his chair, and his 
laugh sounded through the stillness of the room. 

But there was no mirth in that laugh. It was like 
the hysterical laugh of a man whose nerves are 
strained to breaking tension. 

He knew he had made a terrible mistake. His 
rage had placed a deadly weapon in his enemy’s 
hands. He had practically admitted his authorship 
of the notice in the Winnipeg paper. What would 
be the result ? he asked himself. Again that strained 
laugh sounded through the room. 

As Hervey rode away from the valley his fear 
of George Iredale fell from him as might a cloak. 
His face wore full expression of the evil in his 
heart. 

He, too, laughed ; but his laugh was an expression 
of triumph. 

“You’re less clever than I thought, George Iredale,” 


BLACKMAIL 


239 


he muttered. “You would have done better to have 
bought my silence. Now I can sell my discovery 
elsewhere. Money I want, and money I mean to 
have.” 

But he spurred his horse on as an anxious thought 
came to him. 


CHAPTER XIV 


A STAB IN THE DARK 

Mrs. Malling fumbled her glasses out of her 
pocket and adjusted them on her nose. She had 
paused in her work to receive her letters, which had 
just been brought from Lakeville. The girls stood 
by waiting to learn the news. 

The summer kitchen was stifling hot. The great 
cobk-stove, throwing off a fearful heat, helped to 
heighten the brilliancy of the farm-wife’s complexion, 
and brought beads of perspiration out upon her 
forehead. Prudence and Alice looked cool beside 
“ Mother Hephzy,” but then they were never allowed 
to do any work in the kitchen. Mrs. Malling loved 
her kitchen better than any part of the house. She 
had always reigned supreme there, and as long as she 
could work such would always be the case. 

Now she was preparing the midday meal for the 
threshing gang which was at work in the fields. 
Great blocked-tin canteens stood about upon the floor 
waiting to receive the hot food which was to be sent 
down to the workers. Hephzibah was a woman of 
generous instincts where the inner man was concerned. 
The wages she paid were always board wages, but no 
hired man was ever allowed to work for her and pay 
240 


A STAB IN THE DARK 


241 


for his keep. She invariably insisted that every 
labourer should be fed from her kitchen, and she took 
care that his food was the best she could provide. 

“ Alice, girl,” the old lady said, as she tore open the 
first letter, “ go and see if Andy is hitching-up yet. 
Tell him that the dinner boxes will be ready in 
quarter-hour. Maybe you’ll find him in the bean 
patch. I sent him to gather a peck o’ broad beans. 
Who’s this from ? ” she went on, turning to the last 
page of her letter to look at the signature. “ H’m— 
Winnipeg—the bank. Guess I’ll read that later.” 

Alice ran off to find Andy, and Mrs. Mailing picked 
up another envelope. 

“ Prudence, my girl,” went on the farm-wife, as 
soon as Alice’s back was turned, “just open that 
other,” pointing to a blue envelope. “ The postmark 
reads Ainsley. I take it, it’s from young Robb 
Chillingwood. Maybe it’s to say as he’ll be along 
d’rectly.” 

Prudence picked the last letter up. 

“It is hot in here, mother; I wonder you can stand 
it.” 

Her mother looked up over her spectacles. 

“ Stand it, child ? It’s a woman’s place, is the 
kitchen. I can’t trust no one at the stove but my¬ 
self. I’ve done it for over forty summers, an’ I don’t 
reckon to give it up now. This is from that p’lice 
feller. He ain’t doing much. I’m thinking. Seems to 
me he spends most of his time in making up his bills 
of expenses. Howsum, you look into it. What’s 
Master Robb say.?” 

She put her glasses back into their broad old- 
fashioned case and turned back to the stove. She 

R 


242 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


could never allow anything to keep her long from her 
cooking. She lifted a lid and stabbed her cooking 
fork gently into a great boiler full of potatoes. Then 
she passed round to the other side and shook up the 
fire. 

“ Oh, what a shame, mother! Won’t A1 be dis¬ 
appointed ? Robb can’t come out here, at least not to 
stay.” Prudence had finished her letter and now 
looked disappointedly over at her mother. 

“ And how be that ? ” asked the old lady, standing 
with a shovel of anthracite coal poised in her hand. 

“He says that the rush of emigrants to the district 
keeps him at work from daylight to dark. It’s too 
bad. Poor old A1! ” 

Mrs. Mailing dumped the coal into the stove with a 
clatter and replaced the circular iron top. She said 
nothing, and Prudence went on. 

“ He’s coming out this way on business shortly, and 
will call over here if possible. But he can’t stay. 
Says he’s making money now, and is writing to A1 
and giving her all particulars. I sorry he can’t 
come.” 

“Well, well; maybe it’s for the best,” said her 
mother, in a consolatory manner. “ Seemingly his 
coming would only ’a caused bickerings with Hervey, 
and, good-sakes, we get enough of that now. I’m not 
one for underhand dealings, but I’m thinking it would 
be for the best not to say anything to your brother 
about his coming at all. If he asks, just say he can’t 
come to stop. I’d sooner keep Hervey under my eye. 
If he goes off, as he said, you never know what mis¬ 
chief he’ll be getting up to. He just goes into Winni¬ 
peg and gets around with them scallywags, and—and 


A STAB IN THE DARK 


243 


you never know. I have heard tell—though he never 
lets on—as he’s too fond o’ poker. Leastways, I do 
know as he spends more money than is good for him. 
Sarah and me was talking only the other day. 
Sarah’s pretty ’cute, and she declares that he’s got 
gaming writ in his lines. Maybe it’s so. I’ll not dis¬ 
pute. He won’t have no excuse for leaving now.” 
And she sighed heavily and took up the vegetables 
from the stove. 

Alice returned, and the sound of wheels outside 
told the farm-wife that the buckboard was ready for 
the men’s dinner. 

The two girls and the old lady portioned out the 
food into the great canteens, and Andy lifted them on 
to the buckboard. Then the choreman drove away. 

By the time the farm dinner was ready Alice had 
quite got over her disappointment. Prudence had 
told her the contents of the letter, and also her 
mother’s wishes on the subject. Alice was naturally 
too cheerful to think much of the matter; besides, she 
was glad that Robb’s business was improving. 

Hervey came up from the fields in Andy’s buck- 
board. He always came home for his dinner, and to¬ 
day he brought an atmosphere of unwonted cheerfulness 
with him. He had spent much thought and con¬ 
sideration upon his relations with George I redale, and 
the result of his reflections was displayed in his 
manner when he returned from the fields. Never in 
his life had he held such a handful of trumps. His 
hand needed little playing, and the chances of a cross 
ruff looked to him remote. 

After the meal he went out to the barn, where he 
smoked for awhile in pensive solitude. He thought 


244 the hound from THE NORTH 


long and earnestly, and was so absorbed that he looked 
up with a start at the sound of his mother’s voice 
calling to him from the open kitchen window. 

“ Bestir yourself, Hervey, boy. There’s work to be 
done down in the fields, which is your share in the 
day’s doings.” 

And the man, removing the pipe from his mouth, 
forgot to grumble back a rough retort, and answered 
quite cheerfully— 

“ All right, mother. Is Prudence there } ’* 

“ Where should she be, if not ? ” replied his mother, 
turning back from the window to tell his sister that 
she was wanted. 

Prudence came out Hervey watched her as she 
approached. He could not but admit to himself the 
prettiness of her trim figure, the quiet sedateness of 
her beautiful, gentle face. Gazing intently, he failed 
to observe the faint shadow in the expression of her 
soft brown eyes. There was no sympathy in his 
nature, and without sympathy it would have been im¬ 
possible to read the expression. But Prudence was 
feeling a little sad and a little hurt. I redale had not 
fulfilled his promise. Two days had passed since he 
had told her that he loved her and had asked her to 
be his wife ; nor, since then, had he been over to the 
farm, nor had she heard a word from him. 
Fortunately, she told herself, she had said nothing of 
what had passed between them, not even to her friend 
Alice; thus she was spared the sympathy of her 
friends. She had waited for his coming with a world 
of eager delight in her heart, and each moment of the 
day on which he was to have come to see her mother 
had been one of unalloyed happiness to her. Then as 


A STAB IN THE DARK 


245 


the evening drew on she became anxious. And again 
as night came, and still no sign from him, her anxiety- 
had given place to alarm. That night she slept little, 
but she kept her trouble to herself. Alice was all 
eagerness to ask questions of her friend, but Prudence 
gave her no opportunity. The next morning a note 
had arrived. Business detained him, but he would be 
over at the earliest possible moment. And now the 
third day was well advanced and he still remained 
away. She did not doubt him, but she felt hurt and a 
little rebellious at the thought of his allowing himself 
to be detained by business. Surely his first duty was 
to her. It was not like him, she told herself; and she 
felt very unhappy. 

Hervey greeted her with an assumption of kindness, 
almost of affection. 

“ Are you busy, Prue.? I mean, I want to have a 
little talk with you. I’ve been working in your 
interests lately. You may guess in what direction. 
And I have made a strange discovery. We haven’t 
hit it off very well, I know, but you must forgive me 
my shortcomings. I have lived too long in the wilds 
to be a pleasant companion. Can you spare me a few 
minutes ? ” 

The dark eyes of the man were quite gentle in their 
expression, and in the girl’s present state of mind his 
apparent kindliness had a strong effect upon her. She 
was surprised, but she smiled up into his face with a 
world of gratitude. In spite of all, her love for her 
brother was very deeply rooted. The simplicity of her 
nature and the life she lived made her an easy victim 
to his villainous wiles. 

“ Why, yes, Hervey; as long as you like.” 


246 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


“ Good; I’m going down to the threshing. Will you 
walk some part of the way with me ? Mother has just 
reminded me that my work must not be neglected. 
Another two days and we shall be ready for the fall 
ploughing.” 

The sun was pouring down with fervid intensity. 
The yard was very still and quiet. Everything that 
had leisure was resting drowsily in the trifling shade 
obtainable. The swine had ceased to make themselves 
heard and were sleeping upon each other’s abdomens. 
The fowls were scratching with ruffled feathers in the 
sandy hollows of the parched earth, which they had 
made during the hours of morning energy. The 
pigeons had departed for the day to the shelter of a 
distant bluff. Even the few horses remaining within 
the barn were dozing. The dog, Neche, alone seemed 
restless. He seemed to share with his master the 
stormy passions of a cruel heart, for, with infinite 
duplicity, he was lying low, pretending to be occupied 
with a great beef shin-bone, while his evil eyes watched 
intently the movements of half-a-dozen weary milch 
cows, which were vainly endeavouring to reach the 
shelter of their sheds. But the dog would not have it. 
With a refinement of torture he would allow them to 
mouch slowly towards their yard, then, just as they 
were about to enter, he would fly into a dreadful 
passion, and, limping vigorously at their heels, would 
chase them out upon the prairie and then return once 
more to his bone, only to await his opportunity of 
repeating the operation. 

Hervey and Prudence moved away and passed 
down the trail. Neche reluctantly left his bone— 
having satisfied himself in a comprehensive survey 


A STAB IN THE DARK 


247 


that no canine interloper was about who could steal 
his treasure during his absence—and followed them. 
He walked beside the girl without any sign of 
pleasure. He was a dog that seemed to find no 
joy in his master’s or mistress’s company. He seemed 
to have no affection in him, and lived a life of mute 
protest. 

Hervey did not speak for a few minutes. It was 
Prudence who broke the silence. 

“ I suppose it is something to do with Leslie’s 
death that you want to talk to me about. I wondered 
what your object was when you questioned me so 
closely upon his dying words. Have you discovered 
a fresh clue ? ” 

“ Something more than a fresh clue.” Hervey had 
relapsed into his old moroseness. 

“ Ah! ” The girl’s face lit with an almost painful 
eagerness. For a moment her own immediate 
troubles were forgotten. A wild feeling surged up 
in her heart which set the blood tingling in her veins, 
and she waited almost breathlessly for her brother’s 
next words. 

Hervey displayed no haste. Rather he seemed as 
though he would gain time. 

“That message or advertisement in the paper. 
Did you ever attempt to fathom its meaning? It 
was something of a puzzle.” 

Prudence gazed up at the dark face beside her. 
Hervey was looking down upon the dusty trail. His 
look was one of profound thought. In reality he was 
calculating certain chances. 

“ I tried, but failed dismally. To me it conveyed 
nothing beyond the fact that its author shot Leslie.” 


248 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


"Just so. But before I tell you what I have 
discovered you must understand the argument. That 
line contained a message, a message so significant 
that once read with understanding the mystery of 
Grey’s death became one that a child might solve.” 

" Yes—yes. But the reading of it,” Prudence 
exclaimed impatiently. 

“ It is intelligible to me.” 

" And-” 

It was a different girl to the one we have hitherto 
seen who awaited the man’s next words. The old, 
gentle calmness, the patient, even disposition had 
given place to a world of vengeful thought. There 
was a look in those usually soft brown eyes which 
bore a strange resemblance to her brother’s. A 
moment had arrived in her life when circumstances 
aroused that other side of her character of which, 
perhaps, even she had been ignorant. She learned 
now of her own capacity for hatred and revenge. 
Some preliminary warnings of these latent passions 
had been given when Grey had died, but the moment 
had passed without full realization. Now she felt 
the ruthless sway of a wave of passionate hatred 
which seemed to rise from somewhere in her heart 
and creep over her faculties, locking her in an embrace 
in which she felt her good motives and love being 
crushed out of all recognition. There could be no 
doubt as to the resemblance between these two people 
in that one touch of nature. Hervey was a long time 
in answering. He had not only to tell her of his 
discovery, but there were his personal interests to 
consider. He wished to re-assure himself of his own 
^vantage. 




A STAB IN THE DARK 


249 


“ See here, Prue, what are you offering—or rather, 
is mother offering — to that detective chap if he 
discovers the murderer of Grey ? Let us quite under¬ 
stand one another. I don’t intend to part with my 
discovery for nothing. I want money as badly as 
anybody can want it. For a consideration I’ll tell 
you, and prove to you, who murdered your man. 
Provided, of course, the consideration is sufficiently 
large. Otherwise 1 say nothing.” 

For a moment Prudence looked up from beneath 
her sun-bonnet into her brother’s face. The scorn 
in her look was withering. She had long since 
learned the selfish nature of this man, but she had 
not realized the full depths to which he had sunk 
until now. He would sell his information. And the 
thought scorched her brain with its dreadful signifi¬ 
cance. 

“ How much will buy you ? ” she asked at last. 
And words fail to express the contempt she conveyed 
in her tone. 

Hervey laughed in a hollow fashion. 

"You don’t put it nicely,” he said. "Ah, how 
much will buy me ? ” he added thoughtfully. 

"When a man chooses the methods of Judas it 
seems to me there need be no picking or choosing 
of words. What do you want ? How much } ” 

His answer came swiftly. He spoke eagerly, and 
his tone was quite different from that which his 
companion was used to. It was as if some deep 
note in his more obscure nature had been struck, and 
was now making itself heard above the raucous 
jangling of discord by which his life was torn. His 
words were almost passionate, and there was a ring 


250 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


of truth in them which was astonishing, coming from 
such a man. 

“ Look here, Prue, I want to get away from here. 
I want to get out upon the world again, alone, to 
make my life what I choose. I can’t stand this 
place; the quiet surroundings; the people with 
whom I come in contact. It isn’t living; it’s exist¬ 
ence, and a hellish one at that. Look around; 
prairie—nothing but prairie. In the winter, snow, 
endless snow; in the summer, the brown, scorched 
prairie. The round of unrelieved, monotonous labour. 
Farming; can mind of man conceive a life more 
deadly.? No—no! I want to get away from it all; 
back to the life in which I was my own master, 
unfettered by duties and distasteful labours for which 
I am responsible to others. From the beginning my 
life has been a failure. But that was not originally 
my fault. I worked hard, and my ideals were sound 
and good. Then I met with misfortune. My life was 
my own to make or mar after that; what I chose 
to do with it was my own concern. But here I do 
not live. I want the means to get away; to make 
a fresh start in different surroundings. Sooner or 
later I must go, or I shall become a raving maniac. 
You can help me in this, even as I can help you in 
the cause in which you are now spending and wasting 
a lot of money. Get mother to give me fifteen 
thousand dollars, not only as the price of my infor¬ 
mation, but also to help me, as your brother, to make 
another start. I am not wanted here, neither do I 
want to remain.” 

He ceased speaking. The truth had died out of 
his tone when he mentioned the money, and his 


A STAB IN THE DARK 


251 


words were the specious wheedling of one who knows 
the generous kindliness of those with whom he is 
dealing. But Prudence gave no heed to anything 
but that which found an answering chord in the 
passionate emotion which swayed her. Hervey’s 
appeal to get away drew from her some slight pro¬ 
portion of sympathetic understanding, but her main 
feeling was a desire to learn the truth which he had 
discovered. 

“ Yes, yes ; but the clue—discovery.” 

“ First, the money. First, you must show me 
that you will do this thing for me.” 

“ I can only answer for myself. I can promise 
nothing in mother’s name.” 

“Yes, but for yourself. You have an interest in 
the farm.” 

“Yes, I will give you all I have—all—all—if you 
can prove to me, and in a court of law, who was the 
man who shot Leslie Grey. I have saved nearly 
everything I have made out of creamery. It is not 
as large a sum as you require, but I can raise the 
rest from mother. You shall have all you ask if you 
can tell me this thing. But bear this in mind, 
Hervey, you will have to prove your words. I give 
you my word of honour that the money will be 
forthcoming when you have accomplished this thing.” 

Prudence spoke earnestly. But there was caution 
in what she said. She did not trust her brother. 
And though she was ready to pay almost anything 
for the accomplishment of her purpose, she was not 
going to allow herself to be tricked. 

Hervey didn’t like these stipulations. He had 
calculated to extort a price for his information only. 


252 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


The proving of his charge was a matter which would 
entail time and trouble, and something else which he 
did not care to contemplate; besides, he wanted to 
get away. His recollection of his recent interview 
with Iredale was still with him. And he remembered 
well the rancher’s attitude. It struck him that George 
Iredale would fight hard to prove his innocence. He 
wondered uncomfortably if he could establish it. 
No, he must make a better bargain than the girl 
offered. 

“See here, Prue, this is a matter of business. 
There is no sentiment in it as far as I am concerned. 
Your conditions are too hard. You pay me half the 
money down when I give you the story. You can 
pay the rest when I have carried out your further 
conditions. It is only fair. Establishing a case in 
the law courts is a thing that takes time. And, be¬ 
sides, I have known guilty people* to get off before 
now. I can convince you of the truth of my case. 
A jury is different.” 

Prudence thought for a moment. They were 
already within earshot of the thresher. And the dron¬ 
ing of the machine and the jerky spluttering of the 
traction engine sounded pleasantly in the sultry 
atmosphere. The dog hobbled lazily at her heels, 
nor did he show the least sign of interest in his 
surroundings. The wagons loaded with bountiful 
sheaves were drawing up to the thresher from half-a- 
dozen directions, whilst those already emptied were 
departing for fresh supplies. Everywhere was a 
wondrous peace ; only in those two hearts was an 
ocean of unrest. 

“ Very well. If you can convince me, it shall be as 


A STAB IN THE DARK 


253 


you say. You shall have the money. The rest shall 
remain until after the jury’s verdict. I am not pre¬ 
pared to give you the money I have saved for any 
tale you choose to concoct. Now let me have your 
story. You have shown me too much of your sordid 
craving to make me a ready believer.” 

“You will believe me before I have finished, Prue,” 
the man retorted, with a bitter laugh. “You will find 
corroboration for what I have to tell in your own 
knowledge of certain facts.” 

“ So much the better for you. Go on.” 

In spite of her cautious words Prudence waited with 
nerves tingling and with rapidly beating heart for her 
brother’s story. She did not know herself. She did 
not understand the feelings which swayed her. 
Hervey had an easier task than either of them be¬ 
lieved. Of late she had dwelt so long—so intently— 
upon the matter under discussion that she was ready 
to believe almost anything which offered a solution to 
the ghastly mystery. But she did not know this. 
Hervey told his story with all the cunning of a man 
who appreciates the results which attach to the effect 
of his words. He lost no detail which could further 
his ends. 

“ Grey, on his deathbed, alluded to the notice in 
the paper. He did so in answer to your question as 
to who had shot him ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“He was perfectly conscious?” 

“ Yes.” 

“Some time before he died you and he had dis¬ 
cussed this notice, and he told you he was meditating 
a coup in which that notice had afforded him his 


254 the hound from THE NORTH 


principal clue.” The girl nodded, and Hervey went 
on. “ Grey was a Customs officer. All his works 
centred round contraband. No other work came into 
his sphere of operations. Very well, the clue which 
that notice afforded had to do with some illicit traffic. 
The question is, What was the nature of that traffic ? 
Here is the obvious solution. ‘Yellow booming.’ 
What traffic is known by such a title as ‘ Yellow’ in 
this country ? There is only one. Traffic in Chinese ! 
The smuggling of Chinese across the border. And this 
traffic was booming. Operations were being success¬ 
fully carried out. Where ? The rest is easy. Some¬ 
where in Grey’s district. ‘ Slump in Grey ’ could only 
mean, under the circumstances, that Grey’s supervision 
was avoided ; that the work was carried out in spite 
of him. You know—everybody knows that Chinese 
are smuggled into Canada at many points along the 
border, and that opium is brought in at the same time. 
Thus the poll tax and the opium tax are avoided by 
men who make a living out of this traffic. The profit 
is worth the risk. There is a fortune in smuggling 
opium. The authorities are endeavouring to put it 
down. It is well known that our cities are swarming 
with Chinese for whom no poll tax has been paid. 
And yet the legitimate importation of opium does not 
increase. Rather has it decreased in consequence of 
the prohibitive tax imposed upon it. Still, these 
Chinese must have their opium. This then was the 
coup poor Grey meditated. He had discovered a hot¬ 
bed of opium smuggling. If he succeeded in rounding 
the smugglers up, it meant a great deal to his future 
prospects. Is that all plain ? ” 

“Yes, yes; go on.” 


A STAB IN THE DARK 


255 


The girFs eyes were gleaming strangely. She 
followed every word her brother said with an intent¬ 
ness which boded well for the result of his efforts. 
The careful array of arguments was speciously 
detailed. Now she waited for what was still to come 
without any attempt at concealing her impatience. 
For the time everything was forgotten while she 
learned of the murderer of her first love. The peace¬ 
ful scene about her was set before eyes which no 
longer gazed with intelligence upon their s^urroundings. 
She was back in the farm parlour listening to Leslie’s 
story of his hopes—his aspirations. Every detail of 
that evening was brought vividly back to her memory. 
She remembered, too, that that was the night on 
which Hervey had returned. There was a significance 
in the thought that was not lost upon her. 

Hervey had come to a stand, and Prudence placed 
herself before him. Neche squatted beside her, and as 
he sat his head reached up to her waist. 

“ Very well. The question alone remains, who 
along the border in this part of the country is 
smuggling Chinese ? And having found your man, 
did he insert the notice in question ? ” 

“ Yes—and you-” 

“ Chance pointed out the man to me. And I have 
ascertained the rest.” 

“ And who is the murderer of Leslie ? ” 

There was an impressive pause. Hervey gazed 
down into the eager upturned face. The dog beside 
the girl moved restlessly, and as he moved he made a 
curious whining noise. His nose was held high in the 
air, and his greenish eyes looked up towards the 
spotless sun-bonnet 



256 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


“The owner of Lonely Ranch. George Iredale! ” 
Hervey turned abruptly away. Neche had moved 
a little way back along the trail and stood looking 
about him. Then out on the still air rang a piercing, 
hysterical laugh. And Prudence stretched out her 
arm and clutched at the barbed-wire fence-post as 
though her mirth had overcome her. 

Hervey looked sharply round upon her. Neche 
gave a low growl, the noise seemed to have offended 
him; then he limped off down the trail back to the 
house. 


CHAPTER XV 


THE MAGGOT AT THE CORE 

Hervev’s look of surprise quickly changed to one 
of displeasure. To him his sister’s attitude merely 
suggested incredulity, nothing more. 

“ Well ? ” he said at last, as her laugh died out 
suddenly. 

Prudence turned upon him with a strange fierceness. 

“Go on. You must tell me more than that to 
convince me. George Iredale—smuggler, murderer! 
You must be mad 1 ” 

Hervey kept himself well in hand. He was playing 
for a great stake. He would lose nothing through 
any ill-advised bluster. 

“ I was never more sane in my life,” he answered 
coldly. “ I am ready to prove my words.” 

“ Prove them.” 

Prudence’s face and the tone of her voice were icy. 
Her mouth was set firmly, the declined corners testify¬ 
ing to the hard setting of her jaws. She looked straight 
into her brother’s face with an intentness which made 
him lower his eyes. He had no conception of the fires 
which he had stirred within her. One unconquerable 
desire swayed her. This man must tell her all he 
knew. Then she would refute every word, tell him 

257 ® 


258 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


what manner of man he was, and have him driven 
from the farm. She hated him at that moment as 
she might hate a rattlesnake. She was filled with a 
longing to strike him, her own brother, to the earth, 

Hervey spoke in measured, even tones. 

“You know the ranch and its surroundings well. 
You have been there. You have heard the so-called 
owl cries which greet the visitor upon entering the 
valley. Those are not owl cries at all, but the work 
of human sentries always on the watch, ready to give 
immediate alarm at the approach of danger. The 
secret of the ranch lies in the graveyard.” Prudence 
started. “ That is where I made my first discovery, 
a discovery of which I should not have understood 
the significance but for your experiences when pic¬ 
nicking in that region two or three days before. At 
the time I speak of I had come upon the cemetery for 
the first time. I had Neche with me. I paused at 
the broken fence which surrounded it, and surveyed 
the overgrown graves. While I did so, Neche 
mouched about among them with canine inquisitive¬ 
ness. Suddenly he became agitated, and showed 
signs of having hit upon a hot scent. I watched him 
curiously. He ran up a path and then paused at one 
of the stone-marked graves. Here he began to tear 
wildly at the edge of it. I followed him up and saw 
that he had dug a hole below the stone. I dragged 
him away, and found that beneath the stone the grave 
was hollow. Then I moved hastily away, and, taking 
the dog to the ruined dead-house, put him on the 
scent again. He dashed in, whining excitedly as he 
went. It was while I stood watching for his return 
that I discovered the most significant point Directly 


THE MAGGOT AT THE CORE 259 

under my feet, somewhere under the ground, I heard 
a sound of hammering. Then I knew that the grave¬ 
yard was no longer the resting-place of the dead, but 
the abode of the living. Instantly I remembered all 
the details of your ghost story, and determined to 
witness for myself the scenes you had observed. Settle 
it for once and all in your mind. I was troubled with 
no superstitious fears upon the matter. I guessed the 
truth.” Hervey broke off, but resumed quickly. 
“ That evening I returned to the graveyard surrepti¬ 
tiously, and took up a position in the black shelter of 
the surrounding woods. I saw all you saw. But the 
robed figures were not the ghosts which you thought 
them to be ; they were Chinese, carrying their boxes 
and bundles of personal luggage, and, I have no doubt, 
a cargo of opium. Then I understood that the grave¬ 
yard was honeycombed with cellars, and that this 
place formed the central dep 6 t of I redale’s traffic and 
his distributing station. I can understand how these 
‘yellow-devils’ are distributed by means of loaded 
hayracks and such things. The point I have not 
fathomed is the means by which the ‘goods’ are 
brought into the country. I suggest the only means 
I can think of as being almost without risk, and that 
is the lake.” 

Hervey paused to watch the effect of his story. 
Prudence gave no sign. She no longer looked at her 
companion, but away across the harvested fields in the 
direction of I redale’s ranch. As he waited for her 
comment her lips moved. 

“ Go on,” was all she said ; and the man proceeded. 

“ It was an unconscious expression which, in the 
first flush of discovery I made use of which ultimately 


26 o the hound from THE NORTH 


gave me a clue to the rest. As realization of Iredale’s 
doings came to me I thought of the notorious ‘Traffic 
in Yellow.’ That night I pondered long over the 
whole thing. I had learned to like Iredale better 
than any man I have ever known. He had always 
seemed such an honest, straightforward man. And 
all of you folks were so fond of him. It was a painful 
awakening; but there was worse to come, for, as I lay 
awake thinking, there flashed through my brain the 
recollection of what you had told me of Grey’s death 
and his reference to the notice in the paper. Instantly 
the interpretation of that line came to me. It related 
to the yellow traffic. And I shuddered as I reviewed 
the possibilities which my discovery opened up. I 
couldn’t rest. A feverish desire to know the worst 
assailed me. I questioned you as you may remember, 
and, with every reply you gave me, my fears received 
confirmation. In the end I could no longer keep 
silence, and my anger drove me to a course which I 
have since almost regretted, for it has destroyed the 
last vestige of the regard I entertained for the man 
you have all so liked and respected. I went over to 
the ranch and challenged George Iredale-” 

“ On the night of the storm. The night he visited 
me. Go on.” Prudence’s face was ghastly in its 
pallor. She gave no other sign of emotion. 

“ Yes, on the night of the storm. I taxed him with 
smuggling. He admitted it I taxed him with the 
authorship of that notice-” 

“ Well ? ” The girl leant forward in her eagerness. 

“ He did not contradict it His attitude was a tacit 
admission. That is my evidence.” 

Hervey ceased speaking, and a long pause followed. 




THE MAGGOT AT THE CORE 261 


The man waited. He did not wish to hurry her. He 
was not blind to the fact that she regarded I redale 
with something more than mere friendly feeling, and, 
with fiendish cunning, he had played upon the know¬ 
ledge by his allusions to his own regard for the man 
and the trust which they all placed in him. This 
woman’s love for Iredale he knew would help him ; 
for, gradually, as the damning evidence he had 
produced filtered through her armour of loyal affection, 
her hatred for the man would be doubled and trebled. 
In this Hervey displayed a knowledge of human 
nature which one would scarcely have credited him 
with. 

At last Prudence turned. The pallor of her face 
w'as unchanged. Only the look in her eyes had 
altered. The horror which had shone there had 
become a world of piteous appeal. All her soul 
shone forth in those sweet, brown eyes. Surely it 
must have needed a heart of stone to resist her. Her 
body was leaning forward, her two brown hands were 
held out towards him. 

“ I don’t believe it 1 I can’t believe it! George is 
no—murderer.” 

Hervey’s great eyes lowered before that heartful 
look. His face was a study in hopelessness. From 
his expression of deep sorrow Iredale might have been 
his own brother who was accused of murder. 

“ I’m afraid there is no hope of what you say, Prue. 
Leslie was conscious; he knew what he was saying. 
Iredale had every reason for shooting him. The 
circumstantial evidence is damning. The most 
sceptical jury would be convinced.” 

“ O God I O God ! And he has asked me to be 


262 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


his wife.** Prudence covered her face with her hands, 
and her body heaved with great, passionate sobs. 

Hervey started at the words. His face lit up with 
a wicked joy. This was better than he had expected. 
George should pay dearly for his refusal to buy his 
silence. 

“You say he dared to propose to you with that foul 
crime upon his soul? He is a worse villain than I 
had believed. By heavens, he shall swing for his 
crime! I had hoped that my news had come in time 
to save you this cruel wrong. The scum ! The foul, 
black-hearted scum ! *’ 

Hervey’s rage was melodramatic. But the girl, 
even in the depths of her misery and distraught 
feelings, was impressed. Her heart cried out for 
her lover, and proclaimed his innocence in terms 
which would not be silenced. His image rose before 
her mind’s eye, and she looked upon that kindly, 
strong face, the vigorous bearing of that manly figure, 
and the story she had just listened to became dwarfed 
as her faith in him rose superior to the evidence of her 
senses. It could not be. Her quivering lips struggled 
to frame the words she longed to utter, but no sound 
came. Hervey’s words, his attitude, his appearance of 
deep, honest sorrow for his sister paralyzed her faculties 
and hope died down in her heart. 

The man moved forward to her side, and touched 
her gently on the shoulders. 

“ Come, Prue, we had best go back to the house. I 
can do no work to-day. You, too, need quiet for 
reflection. The heartless villain!” And he harped 
upon the information his sister had provided him 
with. 


THE MAGGOT AT THE CORE 263 


Prudence allowed herself to be led. She did not 
care whither she went or what happened. She was 
incapable of reasoning. She was stunned by the cruel 
blow that had fallen. Later she would recover herself, 
for all such blows are but passing; in waking moments 
mind and reason cannot long remain inert and sanity 
obtain. For the present she was a mere automaton. 

Hervey grew uncomfortable at the girl’s prolonged 
silence. He cared nothing for her feelings ; he cared 
nothing for the heart he had broken. He cared only 
for the money he had not yet secured. He realized 
only too well that, whatever protest his sister might 
offer, he had convinced her of Iredale s guilt; it was 
only a question of time before she admitted it openly. 
But some feeling of doubt prompted him to secure 
his wage without delay. Thus his greed rushed him 
on to a false trail. 

Halfway to the house he broke the silence. 

“ Well, Prue, you cannot refute my evidence. 
Iredale is the man you have all been seeking. I 
have served you well. You yourself have escaped a 
course which would have brought you lifelong regret. 
Think of it! What would it have meant to you had 
you married the man ? Terrible ! Terrible! ” 

The girl looked up. There was a wild, hunted look 
in her eyes. Her brother's words had in some way 
driven her at bay. He had struck a chord which had 
set her every nerve on edge, and in doing so had 
upset all his best-laid schemes. A flood of passionate 
protest surged to her lips and flowed forth in a seeth¬ 
ing torrent. She remembered what his story had 
been told for ; she had forgotten for the moment, so 
well had he acted his part, and had thought only that 


264 the hound from THE NORTH 


what he had said was the outcome of his regard for 
her. Now she turned upon him like a tigress. 

“Judas!” she cried, a flush of rage sweeping up 
into her face as the words hissed from between her 
teeth. “ You have come to sell this man. Your 
thoughts have nothing to do with the meting out of 
human justice. You want a price for your filthy 
work. I loathe you! What curse is on our family 
that you should have been born into it ? You shall 
have your money; do you hear? You shall have it, 
and with it goes my curse. But not yet. My con¬ 
ditions are not fulfilled. I do not believe you ; your 
story has not convinced me ; I can see no reason in 
it. Ha, ha!” and she laughed hysterically. “You 
cannot make me believe it because I will not. You 
shall have your money, I will not go back on my 
word; but you must fulfil the conditions. You must 
convince me of the reason in your story. You will 
earn your pay as you have never earned anything 
in your life. Shall I tell you how you will earn it ? 
You will prove your story before judge and jury. 
When you have convinced them you will have con¬ 
vinced me. Then I will pay you. My God, what 
taint has brought such blood into the veins of our 
flesh? If I redale is the murderer he shall pay the 
extreme penalty, and you—whether you like it or 
not—shall be instrumental in that punishment. You 
shall be his accuser; you shall see him to the scaffold. 
And after it is over, after you have received the sum 
of your blood-money, I will tell the world of your 
doings. That you—my brother—demanded a price 
for your work. They—the world—shall know you ; 
shall loathe you as I loathe you. You shall be an 


THE MAGGOT AT THE CORE 265 

outcast wherever you go, stamped with the brand of 
Judas—the most despised of all men. Better for you 
if you stood in George I redale’s place on the scaffold 
than face the world so branded. Oh, you wretched 
man, you have destroyed my life—my all! Go, and 
bring the police. Go to those whose duty it is to 
listen to such stories as yours. Now I will drive you 
to it; you shall go, whether you like it or not. Refuse, 
and I will lay the information and force you to 
become a witness. You thought you were dealing 
with a soft, silly woman; you thought to cajole 
the price out of me, and then, having obtained what 
you desired, to leave me to do the work. Fool! 
You will face George Iredale, the accuser and the 
accused. You shall earn your money. I know the 
ways of such men as you. Do you know what you 
are doing ? Do you know the name that such work 
as yours goes by ? It is blackmail! ” 

The girl paused for breath. Then she went on 
with a bitterness that was almost worse than the 
contempt in all she had said before. 

“ But rest content. Every penny you have asked 
for shall be yours when I redale’s crimes are expiated. 
Nor shall I give to the world the story of my brother’s 
perfidy until such time as you have gone out of our 
world for ever. Go, go from me now; I will not walk 
beside you.” 

Hervey’s face was a study in villainous expression 
as he listened to his sister’s hysterical denunciation. 
He knew the reason of her tirade. He knew that she 
loved Iredale. He had convinced her of this lover’s 
crimes ; he knew this. And now, woman-like, she 
turned upon him—for his hand, his words had 


266 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


destroyed her happiness. But her words smote hard. 
The lowest natures care not what others think of 
them, but those others’ spoken thoughts have a 
different effect. So it was with Hervey. It mattered 
nothing to him what the girl thought of him—what 
the world thought of him. But words—abuse—had 
still power to move him. 

She struck the right note when she said the money 
down was what he wanted. Now he saw that he had 
over-reached himself, and he cursed himself for having 
trusted to a woman’s promise. There was but one 
thing left for him to do. He controlled himself well 
when he replied. 

“Very well, sister,” he said. “ In spite of what you 
say, you are going back on your word. You should 
have thought to fling dirt before you entered into a 
compact with me. However, I care nothing for all 
your threats. As you have said, I want money. 
Nothing else matters to me. So I will go to Winni¬ 
peg and see this thing through.” 

“ You certainly will have to do so. Andy shall 
drive you into town to-night, and I could find it in 
my heart to wish that I might never see your face 
again.” 

“ Very well.” Hervey laughed harshly. “ As you 
wish. I accept your commands. See you as readily 
fulfil your part of the contract when the time comes. 
You do not hoodwink me again with impunity.” 

And so brother and sister parted. The girl walked 
on to the house, her feet dragging wearily over the 
dusty trail. Hervey paused irresolutely. His burn¬ 
ing eyes, filled with a look of bitter hatred, gazed after 
the slight figure of his sister, whose life he had so 


THE MAGGOT AT THE CORE 267 


wantonly helped to wreck. Then he laughed cruelly 
and turned abruptly back on his tracks and returned 
once more to the harvesters. 

Prudence gained the house and went straight to 
her room. She wanted to be alone. She wanted to 
straighten out the chaos of her thoughts. She heard 
the cheery voices of her mother and Alice talking in 
the kitchen. She heard the clatter of plates and 
dishes, and she knew that these two were washing up. 
But beyond that she noticed nothing; she did not 
even see the plump figure of Sarah Gurridge approach¬ 
ing the house from the direction of Leonville. 

Once in her own little room she flung herself into 
an arm-chair and sat staring straight in front of her. 
Her paramount feeling was one of awful horror. The 
mystery was solved, and George I red ale was the 
murderer. The metal alarm clock ticked away upon 
the wooden top of her bureau, and the sound per¬ 
vaded the room with its steady throb. Her feelings, 
her thoughts, seemed to pulsate in concert with its 
rhythm. The words which expressed her dominant 
emotions hammered themselves into her brain with 
the steady precision of the ticking— 

“ George I redale, the murderer of Leslie Grey! 

The moments passed, but time brought the girl 
no relief. All thought of the man who had told her 
of this thing had passed from her. Only the fact 
remained. Slowly, as she sat with nerves tingling 
and whirling brain, a flush of blood mounted to her 
head, her brain became hot, and she seemed to be 
looking out on a red world. The ticking of the clock 
grew fainter and more distant. The room seemed to 
diminish in size, while the objects about her drew 


268 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


nearer and nearer. A sense of compression was 
hers, although she seemed to be gazing out over 
some great distance with everything around her in 
due perspective. 

Mechanically she rose and opened the window; 
then she returned to her chair with something of the 
action of an automaton. 

And as she sat the blood seemed to recede from 
her brain and an icy dew broke out upon her fore¬ 
head. She was numbed with a sort of paralysis now, 
and the measured beat of the clock no longer pounded 
out the words of her thought. Only her heart beat 
painfully, and she was conscious of a horrible void. 
Something was wrong with her, but she was incapable 
of realizing what it was. 

She moved, the chair creaked under her, and again 
thought flowed through her brain. It came with a 
rush; the deadly numbness had gone as quickly as 
it had come, and once more her faculties worked 
feverishly. Now she realized pain, horror, despair, 
hopelessness in a sudden, overwhelming flood. She 
shrank back deeper into the chair as though to avoid 
physical blows which were being rained upon her by 
some unseen hand. 

Presently she started up with a faint cry. She 
walked across the room and back again. She paused 
at the bureau, muttering— 

“It can’t be! It can’t be! ” she said to herself, in 
an agony of terror. “ George is too good, too honest. 
Ah!” 

Her love cried out for the man, but reason checked 
her while her heart tried to rush her into extravagant 
hopefulness. Iredale had admitted the smuggling. 


THE MAGGOT AT THE CORE 269 


She had seen with her own eyes the doings at the 
graveyard. And therein lay the key to everything. 
Leslie had said so with his dying breath. But as this 
thought came to her it was chased away by her love 
in a fresh burst of fervour. She could not believe it. 
There must be some awful, some horrible mistake. 

Slowly her mind steadied itself; the long years of 
calmness which she had spent amidst the profound 
peace of the prairie helped her. She gripped herself 
lest the dreadful thought of what she had heard 
should drive her to madness. She went over what 
she had been told with a keen examination. She 
listened to her own arguments for and against the 
man she loved. She went back to the time when 
Leslie had told her of his “coup.”. She remembered 
everything so well. She paused as she recollected 
her dead lover’s anger at George’s coming to the 
party. And, for a moment, her heart almost stood 
still. She asked herself, had she misinterpreted his 
meaning? Had there been something underlying 
his expressed displeasure at George’s coming which 
related to what he knew of his, George Iredale’s, 
doings at the ranch ? Every word he had said came 
back to her. She remembered that he had finished 
up his protest with a broken sentence. 

“—And besides- 

There was a significance in those words now which 
she could not help dwelling upon. Then she put the 
thought from her as her faith in her lover re-asserted 
itself. But the effort was a feeble one ; her love was 
being overwhelmed by the damning evidence. 

She moved restlessly from the bureau to the 
window. The curtained aperture looked out upon 



2/0 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


the far-reaching cornfields, which were now only a 
mass of brown stubble. In the distance, beyond the 
dyke, she could see the white steam of the traction- 
engine and the figures of many men working. The 
carts and racks were moving in the picture, but for 
all else the view was one of peaceful, unbroken 
calm. 

Her mind passed on to the time when the party 
had broken up. She remembered how in searching 
for Iredale she had found the two men quarrelling, or 
something in that nature. Again Leslie had been on 
the verge of telling her something, but the moment 
had gone by and he had kept silence. She tried to 
deny the significance of these things, but reason 
checked her, and her heart sank to zero. And she 
no longer tried to defend her lover. 

Then came the recollection of that picnic. The 
screech-owls; the boats laden with their human freight 
moving suspiciously over the waters of the great lake. 
She thought of the graveyard and the ghostly pro¬ 
cession. And all the time her look was hardening 
and the protests of her heart slowly died out. If she 
had doubted Hervey’s words, all these things of which 
she now thought were facts evident to her own senses. 
The hard light in her eyes changed to the bright 
flash of anger. This man had come to her with his 
love, she reminded herself, and she had yielded to 
him all that she had power to bestow. The brown 
eyes grew darker until their glowing depths partially 
resembled those of her brother. 

As the anger in her heart rose her pain increased, 
and she recoiled in horror at the thought that this 
man had dared to offer her his love while his hands 


THE MAGGOT AT THE CORE 271 


were stained with black crime. At best he was a 
law-breaker; at the worst he was- 

She paced her room with agitated steps. The 
blood rose to her head again, and she felt dizzy and 
dazed. What could she do? What must she do? 
She longed for some one to whom she could tell all 
that was in her heart, but she could not speak of it— 
she dared not. She felt that she must be going mad. 
Through all her agony of mind she knew that she 
loved this man who was—a murderer. 

She told herself that she hated him, and she knew 
that she lied to deceive herself. No, no, he was not 
guilty. He had not been proved guilty, and no man 
is guilty until he is proved so. Thoughts crowded 
thick and fast on her sorely-taxed brain, and again 
and again her hands went up to her head with the 
action of one who is mentally distracted. But in 
spite of the conflict that raged within her the angry 
light in her eyes grew, and a look which was out of 
all keeping with the sweet face was slowly settling 
itself upon her features. Again she cried in her heart, 
“ What shall I do ? ” 

Suddenly a light broke through her darkness and 
revealed to her a definite course. This man must 
not be judged, at least by her, without a hearing. 
Why should she not go to him ? Why not challenge 
him with the story? If he were the murderer, per¬ 
haps he would strike her to the earth, and add her to 
the list of his victims. She laughed bitterly. It 
would be good to die by his hand, she thought. 
Under any circumstances life was not worth living. 
The thought fascinated her. Yes, she would do it. 
Then her spirit of justice rose and rebelled. No. 


272 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


He would then go unpunished. Leslie’s death would 
remain unavenged. The murderer would have 
triumphed. 

She thought long; she moved wildly about the 
room. And as the hours passed a demon seemed to 
come to her and take hold of her. It was the demon 
which looked out of her brother’s eyes, and which 
now looked out of hers. He whispered to her, and her 
willing ears listened to all he said. Her heart, torn by 
conflicting passions, drank in the cruel promptings. 

" Why not kill him } Why not kill him? ” suggested 
the demon. “ If he is guilty, kill him, and your life 
will not have been lived in vain. If he be a murderer 
it were but justice. You will have fulfilled your 
promise of vengeance. After that you could turn 
j^our hand against yourself.” 

And her heart echoed the question, “ Why not ? ” 

For nearly an hour she continued to pace her room. 
Yes, yes ! Hers was the right, she told herself. If 
he were the murderer she did not care to live. They 
should die together; they should journey beyond 
together. She thought over all the details, and all 
the time the demon looked out of her eyes and 
jogged her with fresh arguments when her heart failed. 
She knew where her brother kept his pistols. She 
would wait until he had set out for Winnipeg. Then, 
on the morrow, she would ride over to Lonely Ranch. 

She nursed her anger; she encouraged it at every 
turn. And she longed for the morrow. But out¬ 
wardly she grew calm. Only her eyes betrayed her. 
And they were not the eyes of perfect sanity. They 
glowed with a lurid fire, the fire which shone in the 
fierce, dark eyes of her brother. 


CHAPTER XVI 

AN ECHO FROM THE ALASKAN MOUNTAINS 

Alice searched all over the farm for her friend. 
The last place in which she thought of looking was 
the little bedroom the two girls shared. Here at 
length she arrived, and a shock awaited her. 

Prudence was sitting beside the window. She was 
gazing out at the bare, harvested fields, nor did she 
turn at her friend’s approach. It was not until Alice 
spoke that she looked round. 

“ Here you are, Prue I Why, whatever is the 
matter ? ” she exclaimed, as she noted the grey pallor 
of the face before her ; the drawn lines about the 
mouth, the fiercely burning eyes. “You poor soul, 
you are ill; and you never told me a word about it. 
I have been looking everywhere for you. It is 
tea-time. What is it, dear ? ” 

“ Do I look ill ? ” Prudence asked wearily. She 
passed her hand across her forehead. She was almost 
dazed. Then she went on as she turned again to the 
window: “I’m all right; my head is aching—that’s 
all. I don’t think I want any tea.” The next 
moment she was all alertness. “Has Hervey returned 
from the fields ? ” 

“Hervey? Yes; why? He's returned and gone 

273 T 


274 the hound from THE NORTH 


away again ; gone into Winnipeg. He nearly fright¬ 
ened poor mother Hephzy out of her wits. Came in 
all of a sudden and declared he must hurry off to 
Winnipeg at once, and he wanted Andy to drive 
him. You know his way. He wouldn’t give any 
explanation. He was like a bear to his mother. My 
fingers were just itching to slap his face. But come 
along, dear, you must have some tea. It’ll do your 
head good.” 

While she was speaking Alice’s eyes never left her 
friend’s face. There was something about Prudence’s 
expression she didn’t like. Her mind at once re¬ 
verted to thoughts of fever and sunstroke and such 
things, but she said nothing that might cause alarm. 
She merely persisted when the other shook her head. 

Eventually her persuasions prevailed. 

“ Mother Hephzy’s fretting away down-stairs and 
Sarah is backing her up. The long-suffering Mary 
has been catching it in consequence. So come along 
and be your most cheerful self, Prue. The poor old 
dears must be humoured.” 

And Alice with gentle insistence led her companion 
down to the parlour. 

“ And where, miss, have you been all this precious 
time ? ” asked Mrs. Mailing, when the two girls 
reached the parlour. “ Sleeping, I’ll be bound, to 
judge by them spectacles around your eyes. There’s 
no git-up about young folk now-a-days,” she went on, 
turning to Sarah. “ Six hours’ sleep for healthy- 
minded women, I says ; not an hour more nor an 
hour less. Sister Emma was alius one o’ them for 
her sy-esta.” Then she turned back to Prudence 
“ Maybe she learned you, my girL” 


AN ECHO FROM THE MOUNTAINS 275 


“ I haven’t been sleeping, mother,” Prudence pro¬ 
tested, taking her place at the table. “I don’t feel 
very well.” 

“ Ah, you don’t say so,” exclaimed the old lady, all 
anxiety at once. *‘An’ why didn’t you tell me before? 
Now maybe you’ve got a touch o’ the sun ?” 

“ Have you been faint and giddy ? ” asked Sarah, 
fixing her quiet eyes upon the girl’s face. 

“No, I don’t think so. I’ve got a headache— 
nothing more.” 

“ Ah ; cold bath and lemon soda,” observed her 
mother practically. 

“ Tea, and be left alone,” suggested Sarah. 

“ * Nature designs all human ills, but in the making 
Suggests the cure which best is for the taking.’” 

Her steady old eyes seemed able to penetrate mere 
outward signs. 

“ Quite right, * Aunt ’ Sarah,” said Alice decidedly. 
“Leave the nostrums and quackeries alone. Prue 
will be all right after a nice cup of tea. Now, 
mother Hephzy, one of your best for the invalid, 
and, please. I’ll have some more ham.” 

“ That you shall, you flighty harum-scarum. And 
to think o’ the likes o’ you dictating to me about 
nostrums and physickings,” replied the farm-wife, 
with a comfortable laugh. “ I’ll soon be having Mary 
teaching me to toss a buckwheat ‘slap-jack.’ Now 
see an’ cut from the sides o’ that ham where the 
curin’s primest. I do allow as the hams didn’t cure 
just so, last winter. Folks at my board must have of 
the best.” 

“ I never knew any one to get anything else here,” 


2/6 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


laughed Alice. Then she turned her head sharply 
and sat listening. 

Mrs. Mailing looked over towards the window. 
Prudence silently sipped her tea, keeping her eyes 
lowered as much as possible. She knew that, in 
spite of their talk, these kindly people were worried 
about her, and she tried hard to relieve their anxiety. 

“ Some one for us,” said Alice, as the sound of 
horse’s hoofs came in through the open window. 

“Some one from Lakeville, I expect,” said Mrs. 
Mailing, making a guess. 

“That’s George Iredale’s horse,” said Sarah, who 
had detected the sound of a pacer’s gait. 

Prudence looked up in a startled, frightened way. 
Sarah was looking directly at her. She made no 
further comment aloud, but contented herself with a 
quiet mental note. 

“ Something wrong,” she thought; “ and it’s to do 
with him. Poor child, poor child. Maybe she’s 
fretting herself because-” 

Her reflections were abruptly broken off* as the 
sound of a man’s voice hailing at the front door 
penetrated to the parlour. 

“Any one in?” cried the voice; and instantly 
Alice sprang to her feet. 

“ It’s Robb! ” she exclaimed. There was a clatter 
as her chair fell back behind her; she nearly fell over 
it, reached the door, and the next moment those in 
the parlour heard the sound of joyous exclamations 
proceeding from the hall. 

Prudence’s expression was a world of relief. Her 
mother was overjoyed. 

“ This is real good. Bring him in! Bring him in, 


AN ECHO FROM THE MOUNTAINS 277 


Miss Thoughtless! Don’t keep him there a-philander- 
ing when there’s good fare in the parlour I ” 

“‘Love feeds on kisses, we read in ancient lay; 

Meaning the love of yore ; not of to-day,’ ” 

murmured Sarah, with a pensive smile, while she 
turned expectantly to greet the visitor. 

Radiant, her face shining with conscious happiness, 
Alice led her fiancd into the room. And Robb 
Chillingwood found himself sitting before the farm- 
wife’s generous board almost before he was aware of 
it. While he was being served he had to face a 
running fire of questions from, at least, three of the 
ladies present 

Robb was a cheerful soul and ever ready with a 
pleasant laugh. This snatched holiday from a stress 
of under-paid work was like a “ bunk ” to a school¬ 
boy. It was more delightful to him by reason of the 
knowledge that he would have to pay up for it after¬ 
wards with extra exertions and overtime work. 

“You didn’t tell us when you were coming,” said 
Alice. 

“ Didn’t know myself. Thought I’d ride over from 
Iredale’s place on spec’.” 

“And you’re come from there now?” asked Mrs. 
Mailing. 

Prudence looked up eagerly. 

“ Yes; I’ve just bought all his stock for a Scotch 
client of mine.” 

“ Scotch ? ” Sarah turned away with a motion of 
disgust. 

“ What, has George sold all his beasties at last ? ” 
exclaimed the farm-wife. 


2;8 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


“Why, yes. Didn’t you know? He’s giving up 
his ranch.” 

Robb looked round the table in surprise. There 
was a pause. Then Mrs. Mailing broke it— 

“ He has spoken of it—^hinted. But we wasn’t 
expectin’ it so soon. He’s made his pile.” 

“Yes, he must have done so,” said Robb readily. 
“The price he parted with his cattle to me for was 
ridiculous. I shall make a large profit out of my 
client. It’ll all help towards furnishing, Al,” he went 
on, turning to his fiancee. 

“ I’m so glad you are doing well now, Robb,” the 
girl replied, with a happy smile. 

“Yes.” Then the man turned to Mrs. Mailing. 
“ We’re going to get married this fall. I hope Alice 
has been learning something of housekeeping ”—with 
a laugh. 

“Why, yes. Alice knows a deal more than she 
reckons to let on, I guess,” said the farm-wife, with a 
fat chuckle. 

Prudence now spoke for the first time since Robb’s 
arrival. She looked up suddenly, and, though she 
tried hard to speak conversationally, there was a 
slightly eager ring in her voice. 

“When is George I redale going to leave the 
ranch ? ” 

Robb turned to her at once. 

“ Can’t say. Not yet, I should think. He seems 
to have made no preparations. Besides, I’ve got to 
see him again in a day or two.” 

“Then you will stay out here?” asked Alice 
eagerly. 

“ Well, no.” Robb shook his head with a comical 


AN ECHO FROM THE MOUNTAINS 279 


expression of chagrin. “ Can't be done, I’m afraid. 
But ril come over here when I’m in the neigh¬ 
bourhood, if possible.” Then to Mrs. Mailing, 
“May I?” 

“Why, certainly,” said the farm-wife, with char¬ 
acteristic heartiness. “ If you come to this district 
without so much as a look in here, well, you can 
just’ pass right along for the future.” 

When the meal was over the old lady rose from 
the table. 

“ Alice,” said she, “ you stay right here. Sarah and 
I’ll clear away. Prudence, my girl, just lie down and 
get your rest. Maybe you’ll feel better later on. 
Come along, Sarah; the young folks can get on 
comfortably without us for once.” 

Prudence made no attempt to do as her mother 
suggested. She moved about the room, helping with 
the work. Then the two old ladies adjourned to the 
kitchen. Robb and Alice had moved over to the 
well-worn sofa at the far end of the room, and 
Prudence took up her position at the open window. 
She seemed to have no thought of leaving the lovers 
together; in fact, it seemed as though she had for¬ 
gotten their existence altogether. She stood staring 
out over the little front garden with hard, unmeaning 
eyes. From her expression it is doubtful if she saw 
what her eyes looked upon. Her thoughts were 
of other matters that concerned only herself and 
another. 

The low tones of the lovers sounded monotonously 
through the room. They, too, were now wrapt in 
their own concerns, and had forgotten the presence 
of the girl at the window. They had so much to say 


280 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


and so little time in which to say it; for Robb had 
to make Ainsley that night 

The cool August evening was drawing on. The 
threshing gang was returning from the fields, and the 
purple haze of sundown was rising above the eastern 
horizon; Prudence did not move. Her hands were 
clasped before her; her pale face might have been 
of carved stone. There was only the faintest sign 
of life about her, and that was the steady rise and 
fall of her bosom. 

A cool breeze rustled in through the open 
window and set the curtains moving. Then all 
became still again. Two birds squabbled viciously 
amongst the branches of a blue-gum in the little 
patch of a garden, but Prudence’s gaze was still 
directed towards the horizon. She saw nothing; she 
felt nothing but the pain which her own thoughts 
brought her. 

Suddenly the sound of something moving outside 
became audible. There was the noisy yawn of some 
large animal rising from its rest. Then came the 
slow, heavy patter of the creature’s feet. Neche 
approached the window. His fierce-looking head 
stood well above the sill. His greenish eyes looked 
up solemnly at the still figure framed in the opening. 
His ears twitched attentively. There was no friendly 
motion of his straight, lank tail; but his appearance 
was undoubtedly expressive of some sort of well- 
meaning, canine regard. Whether the dog under¬ 
stood and sympathized with the girl at the window 
it would have taken something more than a keen 
observer to have said. But in his strangely unyield¬ 
ing fashion he was certainly struggling to convey 


AN ECHO FROM THE MOUNTAINS 281 


something to this girl from whom he was accustomed 
to receive nothing but kindness. 

For some moments he stood thus, quite still. His 
unkempt body rose and fell under his wiry coat. He 
was a vast beast, and the wolf-grey and black of his 
colouring was horribly suggestive of his ancestry. 
Presently he lifted one great paw to the window. 
Balancing his weight upon his only serviceable hind¬ 
leg, he lifted himself and stood with both front feet 
upon the sill, and pushed his nose against the girl’s 
dress. She awoke from her reverie at the touch, and 
her hands unclasped, and she slowly caressed the 
bristly head. The animal seemed to appreciate the 
attention, for, with his powerful paws, he drew himself 
further into the room. 

The girl offered no objection. She paid no heed 
to what he was doing. Her hand merely rested on 
his head, and she thought no more about him. Find¬ 
ing himself unrebuffed Neche made further efforts; 
then, suddenly, he became aware of the other 
occupants of the room. Quick as a flash his nose 
was directed towards the old sofa on which they were 
seated, and his eyes, like two balls of phosphorescent 
light, gleamed in their direction. He became motion¬ 
less at once. It seemed as though he were uncertain 
of something. 

He was inclined to resent the presence of these 
two, but the caress of the soft, warm hand checked 
any hostile demonstration beyond a whine, half 
plaintive, half of anger. 

The disturbing sound drew Alice’s attention, and 
she looked over to where Prudence was standing; it 
was then she encountered the unblinking stare of the 


282 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


hound’s wicked eyes. The sight thrilled her for a 
moment, nor could she repress a slight shudder. 
She nudged her companion and drew his attention 
without speaking. Robb followed the direction of 
her gaze, and a silence followed whilst he surveyed 
the strange apparition. 

He could only see the dog’s head—the rest of the 
creature was hidden behind the window curtain—and 
its enormous size suggested the great body and 
powerful limbs which remained concealed. To Robb 
there was a suggestion of hell about the cruel lustre 
of the relentless eyes. 

At last he broke into a little nervous laugh. 

"By Jove!” he said. "I thought for the moment 
I’d got ’em. Gee-whizz! The brute looks like the 
devil himself What is it ? Whose ? ” 

Without replying, Alice called to her friend. 

" Let Neche come in, Prue,” she said. “ That is ”— 
dubiously—" if you think it’s safe.” Then she turned 
to Robb. “ He’s so savage that I’m afraid of him. 
Still, with Prue here, I think he’ll be all right; he’s 
devoted to her.” 

At the sound of the girl’s voice Prudence turned 
back from the window like one awakening from a 
dream. Her eyes still had a far-away look in them, 
and though she had heard the voice it seemed doubt¬ 
ful as to whether she had taken the meaning of the 
words. For a moment her eyes rested on Alice’s 
face, then they drooped to the dog at her side, but 
Alice was forced to repeat her question before the 
other moved. Then, in silence, she stepped back and 
summoned the dog to her with an encouraging chirrup. 
Neche needed no second bidding. There was a 


AN ECHO FROM THE MOUNTAINS 283 


scramble and a scraping of sharp claws upon the 
woodwork, then the animal stood in the room. And 
his attitude as he eyed the two seated upon the sofa 
said as plainly as possible, “ Well, which one is it to 
be first.? ” 

Robb felt uneasy. Alice was decidedly alarmed at 
the dog’s truculent appearance. 

But the tension was relieved a moment later by the 
brute’s own strange behaviour. Suddenly, without 
the slightest warning, Neche plumped down upon his 
hind-quarters. His pricked ears drooped, and his two 
fore paws began to beat a sort of tattoo upon the 
floor. Then followed a broken whine, tremulous and 
blandishing, and the great head moved from side to 
side with that curious movement which only dogs use 
to express their gladness. Then the strange, three- 
legged beast went further. Down he threw himself 
full length upon the floor and grovelled effusively, 
whining and scraping the boards in a perfect fervour 
of abject delight. 

Robb looked hard at the dog. Then he laughed 
and turned to Alice. 

“ What is the creature’s name ? I didn’t catch it.” 

“ Neche,” she replied. 

Robb held out his hand encouragingly and called 
the dog by name. The animal continued to squirm 
but did not offer to come nearer. Every now and then 
its head was turned back, and the green eyes looked 
up into Prudence’s face. At last Robb ceased his 
efforts. His blandishments were ineffectual beyond 
increasing the dog’s effusive display. 

“A husky,” he said, looking across at Prudence. 

“ A bad dog to have about the house. He reminds 


284 the hound from THE NORTH 


me of the animals we had up north in our dog-train. 
They’re devils to handle and as fierce as wild cats. 
We had one just like him. Unusually big brute. He 
was our ‘ wheeler.’ The most vicious dog of the lot. 
The resemblance is striking. By Jove ! ” he went on 
reminiscently, “he was a sulky, cantankerous cuss. 
His name was ‘ Sitting Bull,’ after the renowned Sioux 
Indian chief. We had to be very careful of the other 
dogs on account of his ‘scrapping’ propensities. He 
killed one poor beast. I think we nicknamed him 
rather appropriately. He was affectionately dubbed 
‘Bully.’” 

As Robb pronounced the name he held out his 
hand again and flicked his fingers. The dog rose 
from his grovelling posture and came eagerly forward, 
wagging his lank tail. He rubbed his nose against 
the man’s hand and slowly licked the sun-tanned skin. 

Robb’s brows drew together in a pucker of deep 
perplexity. He looked the animal over long and 
earnestly, and slowly there crept into his eyes an 
expression of wondering astonishment. He was in¬ 
terrupted in his inspection by the girl at his side. 

“ Why, he’s treating you like an old friend, Robb.” 

The man sat gazing down upon the wiry coat of 
the beast. 

“Yes,” he said shortly. Then he looked over at 
Prudence. “ Yours ? ” he went on. 

The girl shook her head. 

“ No, he belongs to Hervey.” 

“Um! I wonder where he got him from,” in a 
meditative tone. 

“Somewhere out in the wilds of the Yukon,” put in 
Alice, 


AN ECHO FROM THE MOUNTAINS 285 


“Ah ! The Yukon.” And Robb’s face was serious 
as he turned towards the window and looked out at 
the creeping shadows of evening. 

There was a pause. Prudence was thinking of any¬ 
thing but the subject of Robb’s inquiries. Alice was 
curious, but she forbore to question. She had heard 
her lover’s account of his misadventure in the Alaskan 
hills, but she saw no connection between the hound 
and that disastrous affair. But the man’s thoughts 
were hard at work. Presently he rose to depart. 

He bade Prudence good-bye and moved towards 
the door. The dog remained where he had been 
standing and looked after him. At the door Robb 
hesitated, then he turned and looked back. 

“ Poor old Bully,” he said. 

With a bound the dog was at his side. Then the 
man turned away, and, accompanied by Alice, left the 
room. In the passage he paused, and Alice saw an 
expression on his face she had never seen before. He 
was nervous and excited, and his eyes shone in the 
half-light. 

“ Al,” he said slowly, “ I know that dog. And his 
name is Bully, Don’t say anything to anybody. 
Hervey may be able to tell me something of those 
who robbed us up in the hills. But on no account 
must you say anything to him ; leave it to me. I 
shall come here again—soon. Good-bye, little woman.” 

That evening as Robb Chillingwood rode back to 
Ainsley he thought of many things, but chiefly he 
reviewed the details of that last disastrous journey 
when he and Grey had traversed the snow-fields of 
Alaska together. 



CHAPTER XVII 

THE LAST OF LONELY RANCH 

There are moments which come in all lives when 
calm reflection is powerless to influence the individual 
acts ; when calmness, even in the most phlegmatic 
natures, is impossible; when a tide of impulse sweeps. 
us on, giving us not even so much as a breathless, 
momentary pause in which to consider the result of 
our headlong career. We blunder on against every 
jagged obstacle, lacerated and bleeding, jolting cruelly 
from point to point, whither our passions irresistibly 
drive us. It is a blind, reckless journey, from which 
there is no escape when the tide sets in. We see our 
goal ahead, and we fondly believe that because it is 
ahead we must come to it. We do not consider the 
awful road we travel, nor the gradual exhaustion 
which is overtaking us. We do not realize that we 
must fall by the wayside for lack of strength, nor 
even, if our strength be sufficient to carry us on to the 
end, do we ask ourselves, shall we be able to draw 
aside out of the raging torrent when our goal is 
reached ? or shall we be swept on to the yawning 
Beyond where, for evermore, we must continue to 
struggle hopelessly to return? Once give passion 
unchecked sway, and who can say what the end will be ? 

2S6 


THE LAST OF LONELY RANCH 287 


It was at such a moment in her life at which 
Prudence had arrived. Her mind was set upon an 
object which absorbed all her faculties, all her brain, 
all her feelings. Had she been able to pause, even 
for one moment, reason must have asserted itself and 
she would have understood the folly of what she was 
doing. But that moment was denied her. All the 
latent passions of a strong nature had been let loose 
and she was swept on by their irresistible tide. She 
believed that she was the appointed avenger of the 
man she had once loved, and that this duty unfulfilled 
would be a crime, the stain of which nothing could 
wipe out. Iredale must be confronted, challenged, 
and- 

And so she came to Lonely Ranch on her self- 
imposed errand of justice. 

The man she sought was not in the house when she 
came. The valley seemed to be devoid of life as 
she rode up. But the solitude was almost instantly 
broken by the appearance of Chintz from the region 
of the barn. She dispatched him in search of his 
master and passed into the bachelor sitting-room to 
await his coming. 

She was restless and her nerves were strung to a 
great tension. Her eyes still shone with that peculiar 
light which ever seemed to look out of her brother’s. 
There was no yielding in the set of her mouth. 
Her resolve disfigured the sweetness which usually 
characterized her beautiful features. 

She stood before the window, looking out upon the 
shadow-bathed valley. She saw before her the dark 
wall of foliage which rose to the heights of the Front 
Hill. Not a living soul was about, only was there a 


288 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


rising wind which disturbed the unbroken forest of 
pines. She turned abruptly from the view as though 
she could not bear the solitude which was thus 
made so apparent. She crossed over to where the 
bookcase stood against the wall, and glanced in 
through the glazed doors. But she comprehended 
nothing of what she saw. She was thinking, thinking, 
and her mind was in a tumult of hysterical fancies. 
And she was listening too ; listening for a sound— 
any sound other than that which the wind made. 
Mechanically she came over to the table and leant 
against it in an attitude of abstraction. She shivered ; 
she stood up to steady herself and she shivered again. 
And all the time the frenzied eyes gleamed in their 
beautiful oval setting, the lips were drawn inwards, 
and there remained only a sharply-defined line to 
mark the sweet mouth. Presently her lips parted and 
she moistened them with her tongue. A fever seemed 
to be upon her, and mouth and throat were parched. 

Suddenly the sound for which she waited came. 
She darted eagerly to the window and saw Chintz 
pass round in the direction of the barn. Then she 
saw the burly figure of the man she was awaiting 
appear in the clearing fronting the house. 

George I redale came along at a robust gait. He 
was clad in moleskin riding-breeches, much stained 
with clay, as though he had been digging; a soft shirt, 
the sleeves of which were rolled up above the elbow; 
his Stetson hat was adjusted at the correct angle 
upon his head; and he wore a pair of tan-coloured 
field boots, much smeared with the signs of toil. He 
came rapidly towards the house. There was nothing 
furtive, nothing guilty about this man’s bearing; he 


THE LAST OF LONELY RANCH 289 


came readily to meet his visitor, and his appearance 
was the confident bearing of a man who has little to 
fear. 

She saw him look towards the window where she 
stood, and his smile of welcome set her nerves ting¬ 
ling with a sensation she failed to understand. Her 
hand went round to the pocket of her linen riding- 
skirt and remained there. She heard his step in the 
hall; she heard him approach and turn the door 
handle. As he came into the room she faced him. 

“ Why, Prudence, this is a delightful-” he began. 

But she interrupted him coldly. 

“ One moment,” she said, and her voice was hoarse 
with the dryness of her throat. “ I have not come 
over for any visit of pleasure, but strictly upon a 
matter of—of—business. There are some explana¬ 
tions which we both need to make, but more 
especially you.” 

“Yes.” 

Iredale was gazing earnestly into the face before 
him. He was trying to fathom the meaning of her 
coldness. For the moment he wondered; then, 
slowly, he began to understand that Hervey had been 
at work. 

“ You got my note,” he said, choosing to ignore the 
result of his observations. “My delay in calling at 
the farm was unavoidable. I am in the midst of 
disposing of my ranch. I had not expected that I 
should have been called upon to do so so soon. I 
beg that you will forgive me what must seem an 
unwarrantable delay.” 

Prudence’s nerves were so strung that she felt as 
though she could strike him for his calm words. Her 

u 



290 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


condition demanded the opposition of passion equal 
to her own. His coolness maddened her. So long 
had she dwelt upon the accusation Hervey had 
brought against him that she believed in this man’s 
guilt. The evidence of her own senses had militated 
against him, and now she steeled herself in an armour 
of unbelief. But, in spite of herself, the dictates of 
her heart were struggling hard to find the joints of 
her armour. Nor were the struggles lessened now 
that she stood confronting him. His coolness, though 
maddening to her, was not without effect. The 
moral influence he wielded was great. 

She backed to the table; then she plunged into 
the subject of her mission without further preamble. 
Her eyes stared straight into his, and her tones 
sounded incisively in the stillness of the room. 

" I little knew the man whom I was listening to 
when he offered me his life, nor had I an idea of 
how near I was to the man who inspired the words 
which have appeared in the paper—the words which 
were the last Leslie Grey ever uttered. What must 
have been your feelings when I told you that I knew 
their author to be a murderer ? ” Then, with scathing 
bitterness: “ But your feelings must have long since 
been dead—dead as the poor creature you so wan¬ 
tonly sent to his reckoning. The time has come for 
you to defend yourself; that is, if defence you can 
offer. No flimsy excuse or extenuation will cover 
you. Even the Scriptures teach us that the penalty 
is ‘a life for a life.’ Yours is the hand that struck 
Leslie down, and now you must face the consequences 
of your wanton act.” 

Iredale’s quiet eyes never attempted to avoid the 


THE LAST OF LONELY RANCH 291 


girl’s direct gaze, nor did he flinch as the accusation 
fell from her lips. Never was he more alert, never 
more gently disposed towards this half-demented 
creature than at that moment. He recognized the 
hand that had been at work, and he laid no blame 
upon her. His feelings were of sorrow—sorrow for 
the woman he loved, and sorrow for himself. But his 
thoughts were chiefly for her. He knew, as she had 
said, that his time had come. 

“ So Hervey has been to you to sell the discovery 
which I rejected at the price he asked. He told you 
that I was a smuggler; that the announcement in the 
paper was mine. And did he tell you that I was the 
murderer of Leslie Grey ? Or did your heart prompt 
you to that conclusion ? ” 

The girl supported herself against the table with 
one hand, and the other was still in the pocket behind 
her. I redale noted these things without moving his 
eyes from her face. 

“ Hervey told me the facts and the inevitable proof 
they bore. Nor was his statement exaggerated. My 
own reason told me that.” 

The man sighed. He had hoped that the work 
had been only of the brother’s doings. He had 
hoped that she had come bearing Hervey’s accusation 
and not her own. 

** Go on,” he said. 

" I know you for what you really are, George 
I redale. And now I have come to you to give you 
the chance of defending yourself. No man must be 
condemned without a hearing. Neither shall you. 
The evidence against you is overwhelming; I can see 
no escape for you. But speak, if you have anything 


292 THE HOUND FROM THE NORJH 

to say in your defence, and I will listen. I charge 
you with the murder of Leslie Grey.” 

Just for one brief moment I redale felt a shiver pass 
through his body. The icy tones of the girl’s voice, 
the seemingly dispassionate words filled him with a 
horror unspeakable. Then he pulled himself together. 
He was on his defence before the one person in the 
world from whose condemnation he shrank. He did 
not answer at once. He wished to make no mistake. 
When at last he spoke his words came slowly as 
though he weighed well each syllable before he gave 
it utterance. 

With one exception all that Hervey has doubtless 
said of me is true. I am a smuggler; I inspired that 
line in the paper; but I am no—murderer. Leslie 
Grey’s life was sacred to me at the time if only for 
the reason that he was your affianced husband. I 
loved you at that time as I have loved you for years, 
and all my thoughts and wishes were for your happi¬ 
ness. It would have made you happy to have married 
Grey, therefore I wished that you should marry him. 
I am quite unchanged. I will tell you now what 
neither you nor Hervey knows, even though it makes 
my case look blacker. I knew that Grey was on my 
track. I knew that he had discovered my secret. 
How he had done so I cannot say. He quarrelled 
with me, and, in the heat of his anger, told me of his 
intentions. It was late one night at a card-party at 
your house, and just before he was so foully murdered. 
No doubt you, or any right-minded person for that 
matter, will say that this evidence only clinches the 
case against me. But, in spite of it, I assert my 
innocence. Amongst my many sins the crime Hervey 


THE LAST OF LONELY RANCH 293 


charges me with ”—he purposely avoided associating 
the charge with her—“ is not numbered. Can I hope 
that you will believe me ? ” 

The gentle tones in which the burly man spoke, the 
earnest fearlessness which looked out from his quiet 
eyes, gave infinite weight to all he said. Prudence 
shook her head slowly, but the fire in her eyes was 
less bright, and the voice of her own heart crying out 
began to make itself heard in the midst of her chaotic 
thought 

She tried to stiffen herself for the task she had 
undertaken, but the result was not all she sought. 
Still, she replied coldly— 

“ How can I believe with all the black evidence 
against you } You, in all this region, were the one 
man interested in Leslie’s death. His life meant 
penitentiary to you ; his death meant liberty. Your 
own words tell me that. How can I believe such a 
denial as you now make? Tell me, have you no 
proof to offer ? Account for the day on which Leslie 
met his death; prove your movements upon that 
day.” 

The girl’s denial of belief was belied by the eager¬ 
ness in her voice. For one brief instant a flash of 
hope rose in her. She saw a loophole for her lover. 
She longed to believe him. But the hope died down, 
leaving her worse distracted for its coming. 

For I redale did not speak, and his face assumed a 
look of gloom. 

“ Ah, you cannot—you cannot,” she went on 
hysterically. “ I might have known, I did know.” 
A world of passion again leapt into her eyes. Then 
something of the woman broke through her anger, 


294 the hound from THE NORTH 


and a heart-breaking piteousness sounded in her 
voice. “ Oh, why, why did you do this thing ? Why 
did you stain your hands with such a crime as murder? 
What would his living have meant to you ? At worst 
the penitentiary. Was it worth it to destroy thus the 
last chance of your immortal soul ? Oh, God ! And 
to think of it! A murderer! ” Then the fierce anger 
became dominant once more. “But you shall not 
escape. Your crime shall be expiated as far as 
human crimes can be expiated. The gallows awaits 
you, George Iredale, and your story shall be told to 
the world. You shall hang unless you can give to 
judge and jury a better denial than you have given to 
me.” She suddenly broke off. A whistling indrawn 
breath startled the man before her. She gazed round 
her wildly; she had remembered what she had come 
for. She had forgotten when she had talked of 
“judge and jury.” Her face assumed a ghastly hue 
at the recollection. Her eyes alone still told of the 
madness that possessed her. 

Nor was Iredale without an uneasy feeling at what 
he saw—that catch of breath; that hunted look as 
she gazed about the room. Intuition served him in 
the moment of crisis. What was the meaning ? Why 
was that hand concealed in her dress ? There was 
only one possible answer to such questions, and he 
read the answer aright. 

“Prudence,” he said, in his deep musical voice, 
whilst his keen eyes riveted her attention, “ I can 
prove my innocence of the crime you charge me with. 
Listen to me patiently, and I will tell you how. Do 
not let your anger drive you to any rash act which 
might bring you—life-long regret” 


THE LAST OF LONELY RANCH 295 


The girl made a sharp ejaculation. But she did 
not attempt to interrupt him. 

“ I can prove that I was not within three hundred 
miles of this place on the day of Leslie’s death,” the 
man went on. “That I was in a city to the west 
of here distributing”—bitterly—“my wares. I can 
prove all this—to you. And I intend that before you 
leave me to-day you shall be a witness to my inno¬ 
cence, even against all prejudice. But before judge 
and jury it will be different—very different.” He 
sighed. “ There I cannot prove my innocence, for to 
do so would be to betray my comrades—those who 
have traded with me and trusted me—and send them 
to the penal servitude which also awaits me.” His 
eyes had become reflective. He seemed to be talking 
to himself now rather than to the woman before him. 
“No, I cannot save myself at such a cost. Even 
to escape the gallows I will not play the part of 
Judas.” 

The woman made no reply. She stood staring at 
him with all that was best in her shining in her eyes. 
She was trying to follow his every word and to take 
his meaning, and the one thought which dominated 
her whole mind was his expressed ability to prove his 
innocence to her. 

He seemed to awake from some melancholy reverie, 
and again his eyes sought hers. 

“ Do you wish me to prove my innocence ? ” 

“ Yes ; you must—you shall! ” 

The girl moved from the table; and, for the first 
time during the interview, her hand was removed 
from the pocket in her skirt. Hope filled the heart 
in which but now the fires of hell had seemed to burn. 


296 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


She drank in his words with a soul-consuming thirst 
The proof! That was what she required. 

Iredale went on with grave gentleness. 

“ The proof is in here.” He moved to the book¬ 
case and opened a secret recess in the back of it. 
“In this cupboard.” 

He produced a pile of books and brought them to 
the table. Picking out one he opened it at the date 
of Grey s death. It was a diary. He read out the 
entries for the entire week, all of which bore out his 
testimony. Every one was dated at a different town 
or village, and related to his sales of opium. He then 
opened another book and showed the entries of his 
sales and the figures. He went through the whole 
pile, book after book, and all of them bore out his 
statement as to his whereabouts. Then he produced 
several contracts ; these were deeds between himself 
and various traders, and were dated at the towns at 
which they were signed. Each book and paper he 
passed on to Prudence for her scrutiny, drawing her 
attention to the corroboration in the evidence. There 
could be no doubt as to the genuineness of these facts, 
and the girl’s last shadowy doubts of his innocence 
evaporated before the overwhelming detail. The 
hope which had filled her heart was now replaced 
by a triumphant joy. This man had shown her, had 
convinced her, and she wanted nothing more at that 
moment. 

She looked up into his face, hoping to see a 
reflection of her own happiness in it. But there 
was no happiness there. His face was calm, but the 
melancholy had deepened in his eyes. What she 
saw came like an icy douche to her, and the happy 


THE LAST OF LONELY RANCH 297 


expression died upon her lips. She suddenly remem¬ 
bered that he had said he could not use this evidence 
to publicly declare his innocence. 

“ But-she began. 

He shook his head. He knew that she wished to 
protest. For a moment they looked into each other’s 
eyes. Then the woman, the weaker, broke down 
under the strain. Tears came to her eyes, and she 
poured out all the pent-up grief of her hours of misery. 

“ Oh, George,” she cried, “ can you ever forgive 
my wickedness ? I ought never to have believed. 
My heart told me that you were innocent; but the 
evidence—oh, the evidence. I could see no loophole. 
Everything pointed to you—you. And I, wretch that 
I ,am, I believed.” And the girl sobbed as though 
her heart would break. Iredale made no attempt to 
soothe her; he felt that it would be good for her to 
weep. She leant against the table, and after a while 
her sobs quietened. Then the man touched her upon 
the shoulder. 

“ Don’t cry, Prue; my heart bleeds for you when I 
listen to your sobs. You’re not to blame for believing 
me guilty. Twelve jurymen will shortly do the same, 
and who can blame them ? ” He shrugged. “ I must 
face the ‘ music ’ and take my chance. And now, child,” 
he added, his hand still resting upon her shoulder, and 
smiling down upon her from his superior height, “ give 
me that which you have concealed in your pocket 
We will throw it away.” 

Prudence sprang up and moved beyond his reach. 

“ No, no ! I can’t! Don’t ask me. Spare me the 
shame of it As you love me, George, don’t ask me 
for it” 


298 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


“As you will, dear; I merely wished to rid our¬ 
selves of an ugly presence. While we are together— 
and it may not be for long now—nothing should 
come between us, least of all that.'* 

The girl’s tears had dried. She looked over at her 
lover. His compelling influence was upon her. She 
paused irresolute; then she plunged her hand into 
her pocket and drew forth a large revolver. 

“ Here, take it. Take it, and do what you like 
with it” Then she laughed bitterly. “You know 
me as I am now. I brought that to shoot you with, 
and afterwards to shoot myself. You see, I am a 
murderess at heart.” And she smiled bitterly. 

Iredale took the weapon and placed it in his book¬ 
case. Then he came to the girl’s side and put his 
arm tenderly about her shoulders. 

“ Forget it, child ; forget it as you would a hideous 
dream. Your feelings were forced upon you by— 
well, through my wretched doings. That which I 
have done to gain wealth has brought only what 
might have been expected in its train. No work of 
evil is without its sting, and, as is always the case, 
that sting seeks out the most sensitive part of its 
victim. The chastisement for my wrongdoing has 
been inflicted with cruel cunning, for you, Prue, 
have been made to suffer; thus is my punishment a 
hundredfold greater.” 

He drew her to him as he spoke, and gently 
smoothed her dark hair. Under the influence of his 
touch and the sound of his voice, the girl calmed. 
She nestled close to his side, and for a moment 
abandoned herself to the delight of being with him. 
But her thoughts would not remain idle for long. 


THE LAST OF LONELY RANCH 299 


Suddenly she released herself and moved to arm’s 
length from him. 

“ George,” she said, in a tone of suppressed eager¬ 
ness, *‘they cannot try you for—for murder. You 
will tell them. You will show them all—these. For 
my sake, for the sake of all your friends, you will not 
let them—condemn you. Oh, you can’t allow it. 
Think,” she went on, more passionately; “no men 
would willingly let you be declared guilty when they 
know you to be innocent. It must not be.” 

I redale gave no outward sign. He had turned his 
face away and was gazing in the direction of the 
window. His reflective eyes looked out upon the 
valley, but his resolve was written plainly in them. 

“ Do not tempt me, Prue,” he said quietly. “ Were 
I to do otherwise than I have resolved, and obtained 
an acquittal thereby, I should live a life of utter 
regret. I should despise myself; I should loathe my 
own shadow. Nothing could be more revolting to 
me than the man who plays the part of a traitor, and 
were I that man life would be impossible to me. 
Think of it only for one moment, sweetheart, and 
your own good heart will tell you how impossible is 
that which you ask me to do. It cannot be. All the 
world would despise me. But even so, its utmost 
execration would be nothing compared with my own 
feelings at the thought that I had saved myself by 
such methods.” He withdrew his hand from her 
embrace. “No, when the time comes and I am 
forced to stand my trial for Grey’s murder, I shall 
face it. Nor shall I betray my friends by one single 
word. And, too, when that time comes there will 
not remain one single trace of the traffic which has 


300 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


hitherto been part of my very existence. There shall 
be no possible chance of discovery for those who have 
trusted me. Your brother Hervey will never hold 
his hand. I know that. I realized that when he left 
me after seeking ‘blackmail* His vindictive nature 
will see this through. And perhaps I would rather 
have it so. It will then be settled once and for all. 
I may get off, but I fear that it will be otherwise.” 

At the mention of her brother’s name, Prudence 
started, and the blood receded from her anxious face, 
leaving it ghastly in its pallor. She had forgotten 
that he was even now on his way to Winnipeg for the 
express purpose of denouncing Iredale. For one 
instant she shook like an aspen. Then she recovered 
herself. What was to be done ? She tried to think. 
This matter of Hervey was of her doing. She had 
driven him to it; urged him to it. Now she realized 
the full horror of what her foolish credulity had led 
her into. It had been in her power to stay his hand, 
at least to draw his fangs. Now it was too late. 
Suddenly she turned upon her lover in one final 
appeal At that moment it seemed the only chance 
of saving him. 

“ George, there is a way out of it all; one last 
resource if you will only listen to me. You love me 
even in spite of the way I have wronged you. You 
belong to me if only by reason of our love. You 
have no right to throw your life away when you are 
innocent. God knows I honour you for your decision 
not to betray your companions. If it were possible, I 
love you more than ever. But the sin would be as 
great to throw your life away for such a shadow as it 
would be to deliver your friends up to justice. You 


THE LAST OF LONELY RANCH 301 


can save yourself; you must. The border is near. 
We are right on it. Surely the way you have brought 
the Chinese into the country should provide an exit 
for us. Oh, my poor love, will you not listen to me ? 
Will you not give me the life I crave } George, let 
us go—together.” 

Her words came passionately. She had stepped 
forward and placed her two brown hands upon his 
great shoulders, and her dark, earnest eyes gazed 
lovingly up into his. 

The temptation was a sore one, and the man found 
it hard to resist. He experienced a sudden rush of 
blood to the brain. His body seemed to be on fire. 
He was pulsating with a mad passion. The thought 
of what she suggested came near to overthrowing his 
sternest resolve. To go with her. To have her ever¬ 
more by his side. The thought was maddening. 
Surely he had never realized until that moment how 
dearly he loved this woman. But his strong nature 
came to his rescue in time. The passion had died 
down as swiftly as it had risen and left him cold and 
collected. 

He gazed down into the brown eyes ever so kindly, 
ever so lovingly; and his answer came in a tone so 
gentle that the girl felt that whatever the future might 
hold for them, this moment had been worth living for. 

“No, no, sweetheart. Not flight, even though you 
would be my companion. We love one another 
dearly, and for that very fact I could never allow 
myself to remain under this cloud. At all costs we 
will have the matter cleared. I owe it to you, to those 
at the farm, and to myself.” 

The girls hands dropped to her sides and she turned 


302 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


away. Then all the agony of her soul found vent in 
one exclamation. 

“ Oh, God ! ” she cried. And with that last cry 
came the revealing flash which answered the question 
she had so repeatedly asked herself. She turned back 
to her lover, and the agonized expression of her face 
had changed, and in her eyes was the eager light of 
excitement. Iredale saw the change, but did not 
recognize its meaning. He felt that she must no 
longer remain there. 

" Child, I want you to go back to the farm and tell 
them of the accusation that has been brought against 
me. Tell them all the circumstances of it. Tell them 
that I have clearly convinced you of my innocence ; 
but, as you love me, I charge you not to reveal the 
manner in which it was done. Tell your mother that 
I shall come over to-morrow, and she shall hear the 
whole story from my own lips. I wish to do this 
that she may hear my version before she reads of 
what must happen in the papers. After that I shall 
go into Winnipeg and set the law in motion. I will 
clear myself or—otherwise. But on your honour you 
must promise that all I have shown you to-day remains 
a secret between us.” 

Prudence listened intently to all he said, but a quiet 
look of resolve slowly crept into her eyes. 

“ I promise,” she said, and Iredale thanked her with 
a look. 

There was the briefest of pauses; then she went on— 

“ On one condition.” 

“ What do you mean } ” 

Iredale looked his surprise. 

f* New you must hear me, George,’* she went on 


THE LAST OF LONELY RANCH 303 


eagerly. “You have charged me with this thing. 
You must abide by my time. A day more or less 
can make little difference to you.’* 

“But I wish to give myself up before others can 
make the charge.” 

“Just so. And in the meantime I want your 
promise not to come to the farm until the ”—she 
paused to make a swift mental calculation—“day after 
to-morrow at four o’clock in the afternoon.” 

“Tell me your reason.” 

“ That is my own.” The girl was smiling now. 
Then she again became excited. “ Promise, promise, 
promise! There is no time to lose. Even now I 
fear we are too late.” 

I redale looked dubiously at her. Suddenly he saw 
her face darken. 

“ Promise I ” she demanded almost fiercely, “ or I 
will not abide by my promise to you.” 

“ I promise.” 

An expression of relief came into Prudence’s eyes, and 
she stepped towards him and looked up into his face. 

“ Good-bye, George, dearest.” 

The man suddenly clasped her in a bear-like 
embrace and rained passionate, burning kisses on 
her upturned lips. Then quietly she released herself. 
She stood away from him holding one of his great 
hands in both of hers. 

“ Quick ! Now my horse.” 

I redale departed, and Prudence was left alone. She 
stood looking after him thinking, thinking. 

“ Can I do it ?” she asked herself. 

Damside City was the nearest telegraph station. 
It lay nearly thirty-five miles due west of Owl Hoot 


304 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


It was merely a grain station for the district and in 
no sense a village. She must make that point and so 
intercept Hervey with a telegraphic message. It was 
her one chance. In spite of her lover she would buy 
Hervey’s silence, and trust to the future to set the 
rest straight. She was strong and her horse was 
good. She must reach the office before it was closed 
at six o’clock that evening. She calculated it up; 
she had just three hours in which to cover the dis¬ 
tance. She looked out of the window. The wind 
was blowing from the east; that was good, it would 
ease the horse. She looked up at the sky, there were 
a few clouds scudding westwards. 

“Yes, I’ll do it,” she said at last, “if it kills poof 
Kitty.” 

A moment later Iredale returned with the mare. 
The girl waited not a second. Her lover assisted her 
into the saddle reluctantly. He did not approve this 
sudden activity on the part of the girl. When she 
had settled herself she bent down, and their lips met 
in one long, passionate kiss. 

“ Good-bye, George.” 

The man waved his adieu. His heart was too full 
to speak. She swung her mare round and galloped 
down the valley to the north. Her object was to 
clear the valley and then turn off to the west on the 
almost disused trail to Damside. 

Iredale looked after her until the sound of the 
mare’s hoofs died away in the distance. He was 
filled with wonder at her strange request and her 
hurried departure. But his speculations brought him 
to no definite conclusions, and he turned abruptly and 
called to his man. Chintz. 


THE LAST OF LONELY RANCH 305 


The man hurried from the stable. 

“We have been a little delayed. Is everything 
ready ? ” I red ale looked up at the sky, then down 
at the grizzled face before him. 

Chintz nodded. 

“Good. Then get to work. Start the first fire 
directly beyond the graveyard to the east. The wind 
is getting up steadily. You are sure there are no 
farms to the west of us, between here and Rosy 
River ? ” 

The man gave a negative shake of the head. 

“ That’s all right then. There will be no damage 
done. And the river will cut the fire off. This time 
to-morrow we shall be homeless wanderers, Chintz 
—you and I.” And the smuggler laughed bitterly. 

Then his laugh died out. 

^ Well, to work. Set the fires going.” 


x 


CHAPTER XVIII 

THE FOREST DEMON PURSUES 

Prudence swung her mare out on to the over¬ 
grown trail to Damside City. Kitty was a trim-built 
little “broncho,” compact, well-ribbed, and with 
powerful shoulders and chest. She was just the animal 
to “ stay ” and travel fast. The road cut through the 
heart of the Owl Hoot bush, and ran in a diagonal 
direction, south-west towards the border. Then it 
converged with the border trail which skirted the 
great southern muskeg, and, passing through a broken, 
stony country, went on to Damside. 

The wind was rapidly freshening, and the scudding 
clouds were quickly changing from white to grey, 
which, to the girl’s practised mind, indicated an 
immediate change of weather. But she thought little 
of the matter beyond being thankful that the wind 
was well behind her, she wished to travel fast, and a 
“ fair ” wind is as necessary to the horseman, under 
such circumstances, as it is to the mariner. 

For a time the roughness of the road required her 
attention. Kitty was surefooted, but the outstanding 
roots with which her path was lined needed careful 
negotiation. Presently the trail became wider and its 
surface more even, and signs of recent usage became 
306 


THE FOREST DEMON PURSUES 307 


apparent. The roots were worn down and the pro¬ 
jecting stones had been removed. Neither did it take 
the girl long to decide whose servants had done these 
things. On this obscure trail were to be seen many 
sign« of the traffic upon which the owner of Lonely 
Ranch had been engaged. Now Prudence gave 
Kitty her head, and the mare travelled at a great 
pace. 

The breeze had chastened the laden air of the pine 
world. The redolent woods no longer scented the 
air, which had in consequence become fresh and 
bracing. For the moment the emergency of her 
journey had dulled the girl’s sensibilities to her sur¬ 
roundings. She looked out upon the beautiful tinted 
world, but she heeded nothing of what her eyes 
beheld. Her mind was set upon the object of her 
journey, and her thoughts were centred round the 
players in the drama of her life. 

How different her life seemed to have suddenly 
become from that which she had contemplated that 
morning. A great triumphant joy was with her since 
her lover had established his innocence to her. Her 
troubles and anxieties were still many, and the least 
thing might upset every hope she entertained, but 
there was always with her the remembrance that 
George I redale was innocent, and in that thought she 
felt a wonderful security. That he was a smuggler 
was a matter of insignificance. She loved him too 
well to let such knowledge narrow her estimation of 
him. She was too essentially of the prairie to con¬ 
sider so trifling a matter. Half the farmers in the 
country were in the habit of breaking the Customs 
regulations by cutting wood and hay on Government 


3o8 the hound from THE NORTH 


lands without a permit, and even hauling these things 
from across the border when such a course suited 
them, and in every case it was ** contraband ”; but 
they were thought no less of by their friends. Iredale 
was no worse than they, in spite of the fact that his 
offence carried with it a vastly heavier sentence. 

But for the dread that she might be too late to 
intercept her brother, Prudence would almost have 
been happy as she raced along that westward-bound 
trail. She knew her brother’s nature well. She knew 
that he was vindictive, and no doubt her own treat¬ 
ment of him had roused his ire and all the lower 
instincts of his malignant nature; but she also knew 
that he loved money—needed money. His greed for 
gold was a gluttonous madness which he was in¬ 
capable of resisting, and he would sacrifice any per¬ 
sonal feeling provided the inducement were sufficiently 
large. She meant that the inducement should be as 
large as even he could wish, and she knew that in this 
direction his ideas were extensive. Her one trouble, 
the one thought which alarmed her, was the question 
of time. If the office were closed when she arrived, 
her journey would have been in vain, for the operator 
lived in Ainsley and would have gone home; Hervey 
would have arrived in Winnipeg, and, by the time the 
office opened the following morning, the mischief 
would have been done. 

She flicked her mare with the end of her reins and 
touched her flank with her heel. Kitty responded 
with a forward bound. The increased speed was all 
too slow for the rapid thought and deadly anxiety of 
the girl, but she was too good a horsewoman to press 
the willing beast beyond a rational gait 


THE FOREST DEMON PURSUES 309 


The hardy mare “ propped ” jerkily as she passed 
down the sharp side of a dried-out slough. She 
plunged through a thicket of long grass, and a grey 
cloud of mosquitoes rose and enveloped horse and 
rider. The vicious insects settled like a grey cloth 
upon the heated mare, and Prudence’s soft flesh was 
punctured by hundreds of venomous needles at once. 
The girl swept the insects from neck and face, heedless 
of the torturing stings. The mare fretted and raced 
up the opposite slope, while the girl leant forward in 
her saddle and sought to relieve the staunch little 
creature’s agony by sweeping the poisonous insects 
from her steaming coat. 

The mare pressed on. Suddenly she threw up her 
head and snorted violently. Prudence was startled. 
Something had distracted Kitty’s attention, and her 
wide-set ears were cocked in alarm. Her nose was 
held high, and again and again she snorted. In 
consequence her pace was slackened and became 
awkward. She no longer kept a straight line along 
the trail, but moved from side to side in evident agita¬ 
tion. Prudence was puzzled and endeavoured to 
steady the creature. But Kitty was not to be easily 
appeased. She rattled her bit and mouthed it 
determinedly, grabbing at the side-bar with an evident 
desire to secure it in her teeth. The girl kept a tight 
rein and attempted to soothe her with the tender caress 
of her hand ; but her efforts were unavailing. The 
ears were now turned backwards, and had assumed 
that curiously vicious inclination which in a horse is 
indicative of bad temper or equine terror. Kitty had 
no vice in her, and Prudence quickly understood the 
nature of her mare’s feelings. 


310 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 

The failure of her soothing efforts alarmed the girl. 
She sat up and looked about her. In the dense forest 
there seemed to be no unusual appearance. The trees 
were waving and bending in the wind, and their 
groanings had a sadly mournful effect upon the scene, 
but otherwise there was nothing strange to be 
observed. The sky had assumed a leaden hue, and 
in this direction the prospect was not alluring, but 
the clouds were fairly high and there was no sugges¬ 
tion of immediate storm. 

Suddenly a couple of jack-rabbits darted across the 
road. The mare “ propped,” reared, and swung round 
towards the trees. Prudence brought her up to her 
work sharply. Then she saw that the rabbits were 
racing on ahead, down the trail. For the moment her 
patience gave way, and she dug her heel hard against 
Kitty’s side and the mare plunged forward. But her 
gait remained unsteady, and in her agitation she kept 
changing her stride, and once even tripped and nearly 
fell. 

A coyote followed by his mate and two young ones 
ran out on to the trail and raced along ahead of her. 
They did not even turn their heads to look at her. 
Further on a great timber-wolf appeared and trotted 
along the edge of the woods, every now and then 
turning its head furtively to glance back. 

Then quite suddenly Prudence became conscious of 
something unusual. She raised her face to the grey 
vault of the sky and sniffed at the air. A pungent 
scent was borne upon the wind. The odour of 
resinous wood, so strong as to be sickly, came to her, 
and its pungency was not the ordinary scent of the 
forest about her. 


THE FOREST DEMON PURSUES 311 


Half-a-dozen kit-foxes dashed out on to the trail 
and joined in the race, and the “ yowl ” of the prairie 
dog warned her that other animals were about. 
The resinous odour grew stronger every moment, and 
at last Prudence detected the smell of smoke. She 
turned her head and looked back; and behind her, 
directly in her wake, she saw a thin grey haze which 
the wind was sweeping along above the trees. 

She drew her mare up to a stand, and as she sat 
looking back, a deadly fear crept into her qyes. Kitty 
resented the delay and reared and plunged in protest. 
The restraint maddened her. And all the time the 
girl saw that the smoke haze was thickening, and some 
strange distant sounds like the discharge of heavy 
ordnance reached her. 

The sweet oval face wore a strained expression ; 
her eyes were wide open and staring, and the fear 
which looked out of them was fear of no ordinary 
danger. She watched the dull haze as it thickened 
and rolled on towards her. She saw it rise like great 
steam-jets and wreath itself upwards as fresh volumes 
displayed the lower strata. She saw the dull brown 
tint creep into it as it densified, and she knew that it 
was smoke. The rest needed no explanation beyond 
the evidence of her senses. The sickly resinous smell 
told her what had happened. The forest was on fire ! 

The thought found vent in a muttered exclamation. 
Then came an after-thought— 

“ And the wind is blowing it straight along behind 
me.” 

For a moment she gazed about her wildly. She 
looked to the right and left. The forest walls were 
impassable. She looked back along the trail. The 


312 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


narrow ribbon-like space was filled with a fog of smoke 
which was even now enveloping her. What should she 
do ? There was nothing for it but to go on. But the fire 
must be travelling apace in the high wind. Still she 
stood. It seemed as though for the moment her 
faculties were paralyzed with the horror of her 
discovery. 

But at last she was moved to action. The mare 
became troublesome. The girl could no longer keep her 
still. The distracted animal humped her back and 
began to show signs of “ bucking.*’ Then came a rush 
of animals along the trail; they came racing for dear 
life, and their numbers were augmented from the 
wooded depths which lined their route. 

Antelope led the way; with heads thrown up and 
antlers pressed low down upon their backs they 
seemed to fly over the sandy soil. Then came the 
“loping” dogs, coyotes, prairie wolves. Birds of all 
sorts assembled in one long continuous flight. The 
animal kingdom of that region of forest seemed to 
have become united in their mutual terror—wolf and 
hare, coyote and jack-rabbit, hawks and blackbird, 
prairie chicken and grey-owl; all sworn enemies in 
time of calm prosperity, but now, in their terror, 
companions to the last. And all the time, in the 
growing twilight of smoke, came the distant booming 
as of the discharge of great cannon. 

The girl leaned forward. She clapped her heel 
hard against the mare’s side, and with a silent prayer 
joined in the race for life. 

She had no exact knowledge of how far these woods 
extended, or where the break would come which should 
cut off the fire. The wild beasts were speeding on 


THE FOREST DEMON PURSUES 313 


down the trail, and, with the instinct of her prairie 
world, she reasoned that in this direction alone must lie 
safety. 

The smoke grew denser and more choking. Her 
eyes became sore. Under her she felt the mare 
stretching herself to the utmost of her gait. She 
came up with many of the racing denizens of the 
forest, but they did not attempt to move off the 
trail at her approach. They were beyond the fear of 
human presence. A more terrible enemy was behind 
them, pursuing with gigantic strides which demolished 
space with incredible swiftness. 

Every moment the air grew hotter in spite of the 
mare’s best efforts, and Prudence knew that the fire 
was gaining. Hill or dale made no difference now. 
It must be on—on, or the devouring monster would 
be upon them. Kitty never flagged, and with increas¬ 
ing speed her footing became even more sure. A 
loose line, with body bent well forward to ease the 
animal, Prudence did all she knew to assist her willing 
companion; but for every stride the faithful mare 
took, she knew that the fire was gaining many yards. 

The booming had increased to a steady roar, in the 
midst of which the deep, thunderous detonations came 
like the peals of a raging storm; the wind rushed 
headlong forward, the fire bringing with it an almost 
cyclonic sweep of heated air. The mighty forest 
giants about her bent like reeds under the terrible 
force, and shrieked aloud their fears at the coming 
of the devouring demon. 

The mare rushed down into a wide hollow. A 
culvert bridged a reedy slough. The affrighted beast 
raced across it. The stream of the animal world 


314 the hound from THE NORTH 


swept on about her. She breasted the steep ascent 
opposite, and Prudence was forced to draw rein. 
She dared not allow the horse to race up such an 
incline, even though the fire were within a quarter 
of a mile of her; she would have been mad to exhaust 
the faithful creature, which was now her only hope. 
Even the poor forest creatures, mad as they were with 
terror, slackened their gait. 

At length the hilltop was gained, and a long descent 
confronted them. Kitty showed no signs of exhaus¬ 
tion yet, and faced her work amidst the rush of refugees 
with all her original zest. Down into the valley they 
tore, for the worst of all perils was in pursuit. 

The valley stretched away far into the distance; 
ahead, here, in this hollow, the air was clearer. The 
hill had shut off the fog of smoke for the moment. 
The refugees now had a smooth run, and a faint 
glimmer of hope gladdened the heart of the girl. 

Without slackening her speed, she looked back at 
the hill, fearing to see the ruthless flames dart up over 
the path which her mare’s feet had so recently trodden. 
But the flames had not yet reached the brow, and she 
sighed her satisfaction. The smoke was pouring over 
the tree-tops, and, circling and rolling in a tangled 
mass, was creeping down in her wake, but as yet there 
were no flames. She looked this way and that at the 
dark green of the endless woods, the gracious fields 
of bending pines. She thought of the beauty which 
must so soon pass away, leaving behind it only the 
charred skeletons, the barren, leafless trunks, which 
for years would remain to mark the cruel path of 
flame. 

Suddenly the roar, which had partly died away into 


THE FOREST DEMON PURSUES 315 


a vague distant murmur beyond the hill, burst out 
again with redoubled fury. Again she looked round, 
and the meaning was made plain to her. She saw the 
yellow fringe of flame as it came dancing, chaotic, a 
tattered ribbon of light upon the brow of the hill ; she 
saw the dense pall of smoke hovering high above it 
like the threat of some dreadful doom. The black of 
the forest upon the summit remained for a second, 
then over swept the red-gold fire, absorbing all, devour¬ 
ing all, in an almost torrential rush down to the woods 
below. 

And now she beheld a sea of living fire as the hills 
blazed before her eyes. It was as though the whole 
place had been lit at one touch. The sea rolled on 
with incredible swiftness, as the tongues of flame licked 
up the inflammable objects they encountered. The 
efforts of her mare became puerile in comparison with 
the fearful pace of the flames. How could she hope 
to outstrip such awful speed ? 

On, on raced the mare, and on came the molten 
torrent. Now the heat was intolerable. The girl leant 
limply over her faithful horse’s neck ; she was dizzy 
and confused. Every blast of the wind burnt her more 
fiercely as the fire drew nearer. She felt how utterly 
hopeless were her horse’s efforts. 

The mare faltered in her stride ; it was her first 
trip. The girl shrieked wildly. She screamed at the 
top of her voice like one demented. Her nerves were 
failing, and hysteria gripped her. Kitty redoubled 
her efforts. The fear of the fire was aggravated by 
the girl’s wild cries, and she stretched herself as she 
had never done before. 

Now it seemed as though they were racing in the 


3 i6 the hound from THE NORTH 


heart of a furnace. The whole country was in flames, 
and the roar and crashing of falling timber was in¬ 
cessant, and the yellow glow was everywhere—even 
ahead. 

Blinded, dazed, the girl was borne on by the faithful 
Kitty. She no longer thought of what was so near 
behind her. What little reason was left to her she 
centred upon keeping her seat in the saddle. An 
awful faintness was upon her, and everything about 
her seemed distant. 

Kitty alone fought out the battle of that ride ; her 
mistress was beyond all but keeping upon the faithful 
animal’s back. Had she been less exhausted, the girl 
would have seen what the mare saw. She would have 
seen the broad stream of the Rosy river ahead, and 
less than a quarter of a mile away. But she saw 
nothing; she felt nothing; she cared for nothing but 
her hold upon the saddle. Thus it was that when she 
came to the riverside, and the mare plunged from the 
steep bank into the deep, quick-flowing stream, she 
knew not what had happened, but, with a strange 
tenacity, she held to the pummels of her saddle, while 
her loyal friend breasted the waters. 

How they got out of the river Prudence never knew, 
nor did she fully realize all that had happened when 
at last the horse and rider again stood on firm ground. 
And the tough little broncho had covered another 
mile or more before the girl awoke to the fact that 
they were now in an open prairie country, and skirting 
the brink of the great southern muskeg. Then it all 
came back to her, and, as Kitty kept steadily on, she 
looked fearfully about her. She saw away in the 
distance the awful pall, the lurid gleam of the flames; 


THE FOREST DEMON PURSUES 317 


and a heartfelt prayer of thanksgiving went up from 
that lonely trail for the merciful escape which had 
been hers. The girl leant over her mare’s shoulder 
and caressed the foaming neck. 

“Good Kitty, faithful little mare,*' she exclaimed 
emotionally. Then she looked ahead and she re¬ 
membered all. “ But on, girl, on. There is more 
to do yet” 

The telegraph operator at Damside was closing 
up his little shack. He had just disconnected his 
instrument and was standing in his doorway gazing 
out across the prairie to the east, watching the vast 
clouds of smoke belching from the direction of the 
woods. All about him was a heavy haze, and a 
nasty taste of smoke was in his mouth. He looked 
across to the only other buildings which formed the 
city of Damside, the grain elevator and the railway 
siding buildings. His own hut was close beside the 
latter. The men were leaving their work. Then 
presently he looked back in the direction of the 
distant fire. 

“Tain’t the prairie,” he muttered. “Too thick. 
Guess the woods are blazin’. That’s beyond the Rosy. 
Can’t cross there, so I reckon there’s no danger to 
us. The air do stink here; guess I’ll go and git 
my hand-car and vamoose.” 

He turned back to the room and put on his hat. 
Just as he left his doorway to pass over to where his 
hand-car was standing on the railway track, he brought 
up to a halt A horse and rider were racing up the 
trail towards him. 


3i8 the hound from THE NORTH 


“Hullo, what’s this?” he exclaimed sharply. 
“Maybe it is the prairie.” 

Prudence drew rein beside him. She had seen her 
man, and she knew that she was in time. Her joy 
was written in her face. 

“My, but I’ve had a time,” she exclaimed, as she 
slid down from her saddle. “ I thought that fire had 
got me. Call up Winnipeg, please, Mr. Frances.” 

“Why, Miss Mailing, have you ridden through 
that ? ” asked the operator, pointing to the distant 
smoke. 

“ Not through it, but with it distinctly hot upon my 
heels—or rather my mare’s,” the girl laughed. “ But 
I want you to send a message for me. It isn’t too 
late for Winnipeg.?” 

“ Late, bless you, no. But what is it ? Prairie or 
forest.? ” 

“Forest,” replied the girl shortly. “Where’s a 
form ? ” 

They passed into the hut. Prudence proceeded to 
write out her message while the man connected up 
Winnipeg and carried on a short conversation. 

“ Bad fire,” he said. 

“ Very.” 

Prudence began to write. 

“ J ust where ? ” 

“Owl Hoot.” 

“ River ’ll stop it.** 

“Yes.” 

“ Good.” 

Prudence went on writing. 

“ I redale’s ranch burnt out ? ** 

The girl started. 


THE FOREST DEMON PURSUES 319 

** Don’t know/' 

“ Must be.” 

” Oh ! ” Then : “ Here you are ; and do you mind 
if I wait for an answer ? ” 

** Pleasure.” And the man read the message— 

“ To Hervey Mailing, Northern Union Hotel, 
Winnipeg. 

“ Return at once. Money awaiting you. Willing 
to pay the price on your arrival. Do not fail to return 
at once. The other matter can rest 

" Prudence” 

The operator tapped away at the instrument 

in * * 0 0 

Hervey was sitting in the Northern Union Hotel 
smoking-room. He was talking to a burly man, with 
a red face and a shock of ginger-grey hair. This was 
the proprietor of the hotel. 

“ How long can you give me ? I can settle every¬ 
thing by this day month. The harvesting is just 
finished. I only need time to haul the grain to the 
elevator. Will that satisfy you } ” 

The big man shrugged. 

“ You’ve put me off so often, Mr. Mailing. It’s not 
business, and you know it,” he replied gutturally. 
“Will you give me an order on—your crop.?” 

He looked squarely into the other’s face. Hervey 
hesitated. He knew that he could not do this, and 
yet he was sorely pressed for money. However, he 
made up his mind to take the risk. He thought his 
mother would not go back on him. 

“ Very well.” 


320 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


He turned as the bell-boy approached. 

“ Telegram for you, sir; ‘ expressed.’ ” 

Hervey took the envelope and tore it open. He 
read his sister’s message, and a world of relief and 
triumph lit up his face. 

“Good,” he muttered. Then he passed it to his 
companion. “ Read that Do you still need a 
mortgage.^ I shall set out to-night.” 

The hotel proprietor read the message, and a 
satisfied smile spread over his face. It did not do 
for him to press his customers too hard. But still 
he was a business man. He, too, felt relieved. 

“ This relates to- 

“ An outlying farm of mine which I have now sold.” 

“Your promise will be sufficient, Mr. Mailing. I 
thought we should find an amicable settlement for our 
difficulty. You start to-night ?” 

“Yes” 



CHAPTER XIX 


THE AVENGER 

Alice was standing at the gate of the little front 
garden. She was talking to her lover, who had just 
ridden up from the direction of Owl Hoot Robb 
had not dismounted, and his face was very serious 
as he leant down towards her, 

“And I never knew a word about it. It’s a jolly 
good thing I obtained the delivery of his bunch of. 
cattle when I did, or goodness knows what would 
have happened. Well, anyhow I’ve lost a nice lump. 
My client, when he heard about the place being for 
sale, wanted to buy it for a back country for his 
beeves to winter in. Just my confounded luck. I knew 
there was a big fire out this way, but I never thought 
that Iredale was the unfortunate victim. Now I’ve 
got to go over to Lakeville to see him—he’s staying 
there, you know, since he was burnt out. I’ll come 
back this way, and if Mrs Mailing can put me up 
for the night. I’ll be grateful. My ‘ plug ’ won’t stand 
the journey back home. You say Hervey will be 
along this evening?” 

“ Yes,” replied the girl. Then seriously, “ What 
are you going to do ? ” 

“ Interview him. There are things about that dog 

321 V 


322 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 

that want explaining. I take it he can explain *em. 
I don’t easily forget. And I owe some one a deal 
more than I’ve yet been able to pay. P’r’aps that 
dog ’ll help me to discharge my debt. Good-bye, A 1 ; 
I must be off or I shan’t get back this afternoon.” 

Robb turned away in his cheerful, debonair 
manner and rode off. Troubles sat lightly on his 
stout heart. His effervescent nature never left him 
long depressed when Fortune played her freakish 
tricks upon him. He had lost his commission upon 
the sale of Iredale’s land, but he had secured the 
better deal of the cattle. Therefore he was satisfied. 
But Robb was a very persistent man in his seemingly 
haphazard fashion. He had promised himself an 
interview with Hervey about his dog. He had never 
forgotten or forgiven the disaster in the mountains, 
and he believed that Hervey would be able to set 
him on the track of Zachary Smith, whom he felt 
certain he had seen at the Winnipeg dep6t. He 
hoped so ; and, for this purpose, he intended to spend 
the night at Loon Dyke Farm. 

As her lover rode away Alice turned back to the 
house. The anxious look was still upon her face. 
She knew that there was serious trouble in the family, 
and she could see no way of helping these people she 
loved. Prudence was in sad disgrace with her 
mother; she had been absent from the farm for 
two days and had only returned that morning. Mrs. 
Mailing had been distracted with anxiety and grief 
until the re-appearance of her daughter, and then, 
when she saw that she was well and that no accident 
had happened to her, she had flown into such a 
terrible passion that even Prudence had quailed before 


THE AVENGER 


323 


her. Never in her life had Alice seen the kinilly 
old soul give way to such rage. No disparaging 
epithet had been too bad for her child, and she had 
literally chased the girl from the room in which they 
had met. Since then Prudence had retreated to her 
bedroom, and Hephzibah had poured out the vials 
of her wrath upon an empty kitchen, for even the 
long-suffering hired girl had feared to face her. 

Now, as Alice approached the front door again, 
she heard the sound of high-pitched voices coming 
from the kitchen. Sarah Gurridge had come over 
while the farm-wife's rage was at its height; and, as 
Alice listened, she thought that these two old cronies 
were quarrelling. But her ears quickly told her that 
her surmise was wrong. She heard Prudence’s voice 
raised in angry protest, and, instead of entering the 
house, she discreetly withdrew, passing round to the 
farmyard instead. 

In the kitchen a stormy scene was being enacted. 

Prudence was standing just inside the door. Her 
mother was beside a long table on which were laid 
out the necessaries for pastry-making. She had 
faced round upon the girl and stood brandishing a 
rolling-pin in one hand, and in the other she held 
a small basket of eggs. Sarah was seated in a high- 
backed Windsor chair. Her arms were folded across 
her waist, and her face expressed perplexed alarm. 
Prudence’s face was aflame; nor were her eyes one 
whit less angry than her mother’s. 

“But I say you shall hear me, mother, whether 
you like it or not. I’ll not let you or any one else 
call me the filth which you did this morning for 
nothing.” 


324 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


The girl’s voice was hoarse with nervous feeling. 
Mrs Mailing shook her rolling-pin in a perfect fury. 

“ Out of this kitchen, you baggage! Out of it, do 
you hear me ? Go an* get your garments packed up, 
and out ye go into the street Child o’ my flesh, are 
ye ? Out of my house, you drab, or maybe I’ll be 
doing you a harm. I’ll teach the like o’ you to be 
stoppin’ out o’ nights an’ then to come back wi’out 
a word of explainin’. I’ll teach you.” 

“ Give the child a hearing, Hephzibah,” said Sarah, 
in her soft even tones, as there came a lull in the 
angry mother’s tirade. 

Prudence shot a grateful glance in her preceptor’s 
direction. 

Hephzibah turned swiftly on the peaceful Sarah. 
But the words of anger which hovered upon her 
lips remained unspoken. Sarah was an influence in 
the old lady’s life, and long association was not 
without effect. She visibly calmed. Prudence saw 
the change and took advantage of it. 

“How could I explain when you wouldn’t li.':en 
to me ? ” she exclaimed resentfully. “ Almost before 
I could say a word you called me all the shameful 
things you could think of. You drove me to silence 
when I was willing to tell you all—I was more than 
willing. You must know all, for the story I have to 
tell as nearly affects you as it does me. I stayed 
away from home to save an innocent man from the 
dreadful charge of murder, and your son from per¬ 
petrating the most wanton act of his worthless life.” 

A dead silence followed her words. Hephzibah 
stared at her with an expression of stupefied amaze¬ 
ment, while Sarah turned in her chair with a 


THE AVENGER 


325 

movement which was almost a jolt. The silence 
was at last broken by the girl’s mother. 

“ Murder ? Hervey ? 

And there was no understanding in her tone. 
Her mind seemed to be groping blindly, and she 
merely repeated the two words which struck her 
most forcibly. 

“Yes, ‘murder’ and ‘Hervey,’” Prudence retorted. 
“Hervey has accused George Iredale of the murder 
of Leslie Grey. Now will you listen to my 
explanation ? ” 

Hephzibah precipitated herself into a chair. The 
rolling-pin was returned to its place upon the dough- 
board with a clatter, and the basket of eggs was set 
down with a force that sorely jeopardized its contents. 

“Yes, girl. Tell me all. Let me hear what devil’s 
work my Hervey ’s been up to. La sakes! an’ 
George Iredale a murderer!” 

And Prudence, her anger evaporated as swiftly as 
her mother’s, told the two old ladies of her love for 
Iredale, and how he had asked her to be his wife. 
She told them how Hervey had come to her with the 
story of his discovery; how, after attempting to 
blackmail his victim, he had offered his information to 
her at a price. How she forced him to prove his 
case, and had sent him to Winnipeg with that object; 
how she had been nearly distracted, and eventually 
made up her mind to go and see Iredale himself; 
how the accused man had established to her his 
innocence beyond any doubt, and how he had shown 
her how impossible it would be for him to use the 
same means of clearing himself in a court of law. 
She dwelt upon each point, so that these two, who 


326 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 

were so dear to her, should not fail to understand as 
she understood. Then she told them how, recognizing 
George’s danger, she had resolved to intercept 
Hervey, and, with her mother’s assistance, pay him 
off; and, finally, how she had been overtaken by the 
forest fire; and how, her mare exhausted, she had 
arrived at Damside in time to send her message to 
her brother; and how, failing any other means of 
returning home, she had taken shelter with the 
elevator clerk’s wife until her mare had recovered and 
she was able to resume her journey to the farm. 

It was a long story, and the many interruptions of 
her mother gave the girl much extra trouble in the 
telling; but with a wonderful patience, born of her 
anxiety for her lover, she dealt with every little 
point that puzzled her audience. 

When the story was finished its effect was made 
curiously manifest. The one thing which seemed to 
have gripped her mother’s intensest feeling was the 
part her boy had played. Her round eyes had grown 
stern, and her comely lips had parted as her breath 
came heavy and fast. At last she burst out with a 
curious mixture of anger and sorrow in her words. 

“ Bone of my Silas ; flesh of my flesh; an’ to think 
o’ the like. My Hervey a whelp of hell; a blood¬ 
sucker. Oh, that I should ha’ lived to see such a 
day,” and she rocked herself, with her hand supporting 
her head and her elbows planted upon her knees. 
“ Oh, them travellin’s in foreign parts. My poor, 
poor Silas ; if he’d jest lived long ’nough to git around 
our boy with a horsewhip we might ha’ been spared 
this disgrace. Prudence, girl, I’m that sorry for what 
I’ve said to you.” 


THE AVENGER 


327 


Tears welled in the old eyes, which had now become 
very wistful, and slowly rolled down the plump 
cheeks. Suddenly she gathered up her apron and 
flung it up over her head, and the rocking continued 
dismally. Prudence came over to her and knelt at 
her side, caressing her stout figure in sympathy. 
Sarah sat looking away towards the window with 
dreamy eyes. The old school-mistress made no 
comment; she was thinking deeply. 

“ Don’t cry, mother,” said Prudence, with an 
ominous catch in her voice. ** Whatever Hervey’s 
faults, he will reap his own punishment. I want you 
to help me now, dear. I want you to give me the 
benefit of your experience and your sound, practical 
sense. I must see this through. I have a wicked 
brother and an obstinate lover to deal with, and I 
want you to help me, and tell me what is best to 
do.” 

The apron was removed from Mrs. Mailing’s head, 
and her eyes, red and watery, looked at the girl at 
her side with a world of love in their depths. 

“These two men will be here this afternoon,” the 
girl went on. “ George is coming to tell you his story 
himself, that you may judge him. He declares that, 
come what may, he will not rest with this shadow 
upon him. In justice to us, his friends, and to him¬ 
self, he must face the consequences of his years of 
wrong-doing. Hervey will be here for his money. 
This is the position ; and, according to my reckoning, 
they will arrive at about the same time. I don’t 
quite know why, but I want to confront Hervey with 
the man he accuses. Now tell me what you think.” 

“I’m thinking you make the third of a pack of 


328 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


fool-heads/* said the farm-wife gently. “ George is 
no murderer, he’s not the killin’ sort. He’s a man, he 
is. Then why worrit ? An’ say, if that boy o’ mine 
comes along he’ll learn that them Ar’tic gold-fields is 
a cooler place for his likes than his mother’s farm.” 
The old woman’s choler was rising again with 
tempestuous suddenness. “ Say, he’s worse ’n a skunk, 
and a sight more dangerous than a Greaser. My, 
but he’ll learn somethin’ from them as can teach 
him!” 

“Yes, mother,” replied the girl, a little impatiently; 
“but you don’t seem to see the seriousness of what 
he charges-” 

“ That I do, miss. Am I wantin’ in understandin’ ? 
George is as innocent as an unborn babe, so what’s 
the odds along o’ Hervey’s accusin’ ? It don’t amount 
to a heap o’ corn shucks. That boy ain’t responsible, 
I tell ye. He’s like to get locked up himself in a 
luny ’sylum. I’ll give him accusin’ I ” 

“ But, mother, that won’t do any good. He must 
be paid off.” 

“ An’ so he shall—and so he shall, child. There’s 
more dollars in this farm than he reckons on, and 
they’re ready for usin’ when I say the word. If it’s 
pay that’s needed, he shall be paid, though I ain’t 
just understandin’ the need.” 

Sarah’s voice broke in at this point. 

“ The child’s right, Hephzibah; there’s money to be 
spent over this thing, or I’m no judge of human 
nature. Hervey’s got a strong case, and, from what 
the story tells us, George is a doomed man if he goes 
before the court. Innocent he may be—innocent he 
is, I’ll wager; but if he’s obstinate he’s done for.” 



THE AVENGER 


329 

The farm-wife made no reply, but sat gazing 
wistfully before her. 

“Yes, yes,” Prudence said earnestly. “It is just 
the money—nothing more. We must not let an 
innocent man suffer. And, ‘ Aunt ’ Sarah, we must 
prevail upon George to let us stop Hervey’s mouth. 
That is our chief difficulty. You will help me—you 
and mother. You are so clever, ‘Aunt’ Sarah. 
George will listen to you. Oh, we must—must save 
him, even against himself,” 

Sarah nodded her head sagely; she was deeply 
affected by all she had heard, but she gave no outward 
sign. 

“ Child,” she replied, “ we will all do our best—for 
him—for you ; but yours is the tongue that will 
persuade him best. He loves you, child, and you love 
him. He will not persist, if you are set against it.” 

“ I hope it will be as you say,” replied Prudence 
dubiously. “ But when he comes you will let him 
tell his story in his own way. You will listen patiently 
to him. Then you can laugh at his determination 
and bring your arguments to bear. Then we will 
keep him until Hervey arrives, and we will settle the 
matter for ever. Oh, mother, I dread what is to 
come.” 

Mrs. Mailing did not seem to be paying much heed, 
but, as the girl moved away from her side, she spoke. 
There was no grief, no anger in her voice now. She 
spoke quite coldly, and Sarah Gurridge looked keenly 
over at her. 

“ Yes, girl, we’ll settle this rumpus, and—Hervey.” 

Prudence moved towards the door. She turned at 
her mother’s words. 


330 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


“ I will go up-stairs/’ she said. “ I want to think.” 

She opened the door and nearly fell against the 
dog Neche, who was standing outside it. There was 
a fanciful suggestion of the eavesdropper about the 
creature ; his attitude was almost furtive. He moved 
slowly away, and walked with the girl to the foot of 
the stairs, where he laid himself down with a com¬ 
placent grunt. The girl went up to her room. 

“ This day’s doin’s will be writ on my heart for 
ever,” said the farm-wife plaintively, as the door closed 
behind her daughter. 

“An’ see you, Hephzibah, and let no eyes read of 
them, for there will be little credit for anyone in those 
same doings,” said Sarah solemnly. 

Mrs. Mailing hugged herself, and again began to 
rock slowly. But there were no signs of tears in her 
round, dark eyes. Now and again her lips moved, 
and occasionally she muttered to herself. Sarah 
heard the name “ Hervey ” pass her lips once or twice, 
and. she knew that her old friend had been sorely 
stricken. 

As the time for Iredale’s arrival drew near. Prudence 
became restless. Her day had been spent in idleness 
as far as her farm work was concerned. She had 
chosen the companionship of Alice, and had un¬ 
burdened her heart to her. But sympathetic and 
practical as her friend was, she was quite unable to 
help her. 

As four o’clock drew near, however, Alice did the 
only thing possible. She took herself off for a walk 
down the Lakeville trail. She felt that it was better 
for everybody that she should be away while the 
trouble was on, and, besides, she would meet her 


THE AVENGER 


331 


lover on his way to the farm, and give him timely 
warning against making his meditated stay for the 
night 

At the appointed hour there came the clatter of a 
pacer’s hoofs at the front gate, and a moment later 
Prudence led her lover into the parlour. After a few 
brief words she hurriedly departed to summon her 
mother and Sarah. There was a significant solemnity 
in this assembling; nor was it lessened by the smug¬ 
gler’s manner. Even the wolfish Neche seemed 
impressed with what was happening, for he clung to 
the girl’s heels, following her wherever she went, and 
finally laid down upon the trailing portion of her 
skirt when she took up her position beside her lover 
and waited for him to begin. 

The opening was a painful one for everybody. 
Iredale scarcely knew how to face those gentle folk 
and recount his disgraceful story. He thought of 
all they had been to him during his long years upon 
the prairie. He thought of their implicit trust and 
faith in him. He almost quailed before the steady, 
honest eyes of the old people. However, he at last 
forced himself to his task, and plunged into his story 
with uncompromising bluntness. 

“ I am accused of murder,” he said, and paused, 
while a sickly feeling pervaded his stomach. 

Mrs. Mailing nodded her head. She was too open 
to remain silent long. 

“Of Leslie Grey,” she said at once. “And ye 
needn’t to tell us nothin’ more, George. We know 
the yarn you are about to tell us. An’ d’ye think 
we’re goin’ to believe any addle-pated scalliwag such 
as my Hervey, agin’ you ? Smuggler you may be, 


332 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 

but that youVe sunk to kill in* human flesh not even 
a minister o* the Gospel’s goin’ to convince me. Here, 
I respects the man I give my hand to. Shake me by 
the hand, George—shake me by the hand.*’ And the 
farm-wife rose from her chair and ambled across the 
room with her hand outstretched. 

Iredale clasped it in both of his. And never in his 
life had he experienced such a burst of thankfulness 
as he did at that moment. His heart was too full to 
speak. Prudence smiled gravely as she watched this 
whole-hearted token of her mother’s loyalty to a 
friend. Nor was Sarah backward in her expression of 
goodwill. 

“ Hephzibah *s right, George, and she speaks for 
both of us. But there’s work to be done for all that. 
Hervey’s to be dealt with.” 

“ To be bribed,” said Hephzibah uncompromisingly, 
as she returned to her seat. 

Iredale shook his head and his face set sternly. 
Prudence saw the look she feared creep into her 
lover’s eyes. She opened her lips to protest, but the 
words remained unspoken. She had heard the rattle 
of a buckboard outside. The sound died away, and 
she knew that the vehicle had passed round to the 
barn. She waited in an agony of suspense for her 
brother’s appearance. 

“You needn’t to shake your head,” went on the 
farm-wife. “This matter’s my concern. It’s my 
dollars as is goin’ to pay Master Hervey—an* 
when he gets ’em may they blister his fingers, I sez.” 

Prudence heard a footstep in the hall. The crucial 
moment had arrived, and her heart palpitated with 
nervous apprehension. Before Iredale could reply the 




THE AVENGER 


333 


door was flung open, and Hervey stood in their midst. 
Instantly every eye was turned upon him. He stood 
for a moment and looked round. There was a slight 
unsteadiness in his attitude. His great eyes looked 
wilder than ever, and they were curiously bloodshot. 
At least one of the three ladies possessed an observant 
mind. Sarah saw that the man had been drinking. 
To her the signs, though slight, were unmistakable. 
The others did not seem to notice his condition. 

“ Ah,” he said, with an attempt at pleasantry, “ a 
nice little party. Well, I’ve come for the dibs.” 

His eyes lit upon the figure of George Iredale, and 
he broke off. The next moment he went on angrily— 

“ What’s that man doing in this house ? ” he cried, 
his eyes fairly blazing with sudden rage. " Is the place 
turned into a refuge for—murderers ? ” 

The man’s fury had set fire to the powder train. 
His mother was on her feet in a twinkling. Her 
comfortable body fairly shook in her indignation. 
Her face was a flaming scarlet, and her round eyes 
sparkled wickedly. 

“And who be you to question the calling of my 
house, Hervey Mailing?” she cried; “since when 
comes it that you’ve the right to raise your voice 
against my guests ? An’ by what right d’ye dare to 
accuse an innocent man ? Answer me, you imp of 
Evil,” she demanded. But she gave him no time to 
speak, and went on, her voice rising to a piercing 
crescendo. “ Spare your wicked tongue, which should 
be forked by reason of the lies as has fallen from it. 
Oh, that you should be able to call me ‘ mother.’ I’d 
rather mother the offspring of a rattlesnake than you. 
What have you done by us all your life but bring 


334 the hound FROM THE NORTH 


sorrow an* trouble upon those who’ve done all that 
which in them is to help you ? Coward ! Traitor I 
An’ you come now with lies on your tongue to harm 
an innocent man what’s done you no harm.” She 
breathed hard. Then her wrath swept on, and the 
room rang with the piercing pitch of her voice. 
“You’ve come for your blood-money—your thirty 
pieces. You villain ; if your poor father were alive 
this day he should lay a raw hide about you till 
your bones were flayed. Sakes ! I’ve a mind to set 
about you myself. Look at him, the black-heart! 
Look at him all! Was ever such filth of a man ? and 
him my son. Blood-money! Blood-money! And 
to think that I’m living to know it.” 

She paused. Hervey broke in— 

“Silence, you old fool! You don’t know what 
you’re talking about. That man,” pointing over at 
Iredale, who sat waiting for an opportunity to inter¬ 
fere, “ is the murderer of Leslie Grey. I suppose he 
has been priming you with blarney and yarns. But 
I tell you he murdered Grey. I’m not here for any 
tomfoolery. I got Prudence’s message to say the 
money was forthcoming. Where is it? Fifteen 
thousand dollars buys me, and that I want at once. 
If I have any more yapping I’ll make it twenty 
thousand.” 

He looked about him savagely, and his eyes finally 
paused at George Iredale, seated beside Prudence. 
He cared nothing for his mother’s vituperation, but 
he was watchful of the smuggler. 

Suddenly the burly rancher sprang to his feet. He 
stepped up to Hervey. The latter moved a pace 
back. 


THE AVENGER 


335 


“ Not one cent, you cowardly hound ! ” he roared. 

“ Not one cent shall you have; do you hear ? I thank 
God that I am here to stop you robbing these, your 
mother and sister.” Mrs. Mailing tried to interfere, 
but he waved her back. “ I’ve come at the right 
time, and I tell you that you shall not take one 
cent of the money. I will never leave you lest you 
should wheedle it from them. I will spoil your game. 
This is what I intend to do. You and I will set 
out for Winnipeg to-night, and together we will 
interview the Commissioner of Police. Do you under¬ 
stand me } I have the whip hand now. And I 
promise you your silence shall no^ be bought.” 

Prudence interfered. 

“ Listen to me, George. I implore you not to do 
this thing. Hervey can have all he wants—every¬ 
thing. You are innocent we know, but you cannot 
prove your innocence. Why should you break my 
heart when there is a way out of the difficulty ? 
There is but one person who can denounce you, and 
his silence we can purchase. Oh, George,” the girl 
went on passionately, “as you love me, listen. My 
heart will break if this thing you meditate comes 
to pass. Oh, my love, say you won’t do it! Let 
mother pay the man off that he may pass out of 
our lives for ever. See, mother is going for the 
money now. It is so easy; so simple.” 

Mrs. Mailing had risen from her seat and moved 
away to the door. Hervey stood at the far end of 
the parlour facing the open window. He saw his 
mother pass out, and a great look of satisfaction came 
into his eyes. After all, these women meant to treat 
him fairly, he thought 


336 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


He grinned over at Iredale. 

“ Better drop it, Iredale, and don*t play the fool. 
When I get the money I shall forget that I ever knew 
you.” 

The smuggler was about to fire a swift retort when 
the sound of voices coming in at the open wi. '"»w 
interrupted him. The voices were a man’s a; a 
woman’s. Prudence recognized Alice’s tones, 
other’s she did not recognize at once. 

Sarah Gurridge, who had been a silent observer of tiie 
scene, had heard the sound too, but she was absorber 
in what was being enacted about her. Her eyes wer 
upon Hervey. She saw him start, and his gre; 
haunting eyes were turned upon the window. Su 
denly he rushed forward towards it. He had to pc 
round the table, close to where Prudence was nc 
standing. In doing so he kicked against the dc 
which was standing with its ears pricked up and i 
head turned in the direction whence the voic( 
sounded. 

The man’s evil face was blanched. A wild, huntt 
look was in his eyes. Iredale saw, was startled, an 
his reply died upon his lips as he wondered at th; 
sudden change. 

“ Shut the window. Do you hear ? ” cried Herve> 
excitedly. “ Don’t let them hear. Don’t let 
them-” 

He had reached the window to carry out his own 
instructions. His hands were upon the casements, 
and he was about to fling the glass frames together. 
But suddenly his arms dropped to his sides. He 
stood face to face with the figure of Robb 
Chillingwood 1 





THE AVENGER 


337 


There was a dreadful silence. Then slowly Hervey 
backed away; his glaring eyes were fixed upon the 
stern countenance of the ex-Customs officer. Slowly 
he backed, backed from the apparition ; and the on¬ 
lookers noted the pallid cheeks and blazing eyes, and 
th^Vi wondered helplessly. Nor did Hervey pause 
» 1 he reached the wall furthest from the window, 

j'en he stood, and his lips silently moved. 
Suddenly there was a cry, and it rang with venge¬ 
ful triumph. It came from the man at the window— 
iRobb Chillingwood. 
y “ By God ! it’s Zachary Smith ! ** 
jt The next instant and he was in the room. 

, The onlookers gazed blankly from one to the other 
‘f the two men. What did it mean? Who was 
i:achary Smith ? And why did Robb so call Hervey ? 
<hen their eyes settled on the man against the wall, 
he cheeks were no longer pallid ; they were flushed 
/ith a hectic colouring, and those strange eyes were 
died with an awful, murderous light The lips 
pntinued to move, but he did not speak; only his 
;ight hand slipped round behind him. 

Then Robb’s voice sounded through the room 
again. 

^ “So, Mr. Zachary Smith, we meet again. And, 
jby the Lord Harry, you shall swing for what you 
did in the mountains! Highway robbery of the 
Government bullion under the charge of Leslie Grey, 
and the murder of our Indian guide, Rainy-Moon.” 
Then he turned—“ Hold that door! ” he shouted; 
and I redale sprang to obey. 

“ But-” Prudence rushed forward, hut Sarah 

stopped her and drew her back. 

z 


338 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


A wild laugh came from Hervey*s direction. 

“And who's going to take me?" he cried. “You, 
Robb Chillingwood, you ? Ha, ha!" and his maniacal 
laugh rang out again. “ Look to yourself, you fool. 
Grey crossed my path, and he paid for it with his 
life. You shall follow him.” 

While his words yet rang upon the air his hand 
shot out from behind him, gripping a heavy revolver. 
The pistol was raised, and a shriek went up from the 
two ladies. 

Suddenly there was a rush, a snarl; and a great 
body seemed to literally hurl itself through the air. 
A shot rang out; simultaneously a cry echoed 
through the room; Hervey staggered as something 
seized him by the throat and tore away the soft 
flesh; another shot followed. 

It all happened in a twinkling. Hervey fell to the 
ground with a gurgling cry, and Neche; the dog, until 
then forgotten by everybody, rolled over by his side 
with one dying yelp of pain. Then silence reigned 
throughout the room and all was still. 

Iredale returned his smoking pistol to his pocket, 
and went over to Hervey’s side. His movements 
seemed to release the others from the spell under 
which they had been held. Robb, unharmed by 
Hervey’s shot, came forward, and Sarah and Prudence 
followed in his wake. But Iredale waved the ladies 
back. 

“ Stand away, please,” he said quietly. “ The dog 
had finished him before I got my shot in to save him. 
The brute has literally torn his throat out.” Then 
he looked over at the dead hound. “ It’s awful; I 
wonder what made the dog turn upon him?’* 


THE AVENGER 


339 

‘‘Are they both dead?” asked Robb, in an awe¬ 
struck voice. 

Iredale nodded. 

“It must have been the sight of Hervey’s levelled 
pistol that made the dog rush at him,” said Prudence. 
“ IVe seen him do so before.” 

“ Strange, strange,” murmured Iredale. 

“ That dog feared firearms,” said Sarah. 

“Perhaps he had reason,” observed Robb signifi¬ 
cantly, “he only has three sound legs. My God! 
And not content with his victims in the mountains, 
he- But, yes, I see it. This man came here with¬ 

out expecting to meet Grey or me.” Robb broke off 
and looked at Prudence. “ Of course, I am beginning 
to understand. You and Grey were to have been 
married.” Then he turned back to the contemplation 
of the dead bodies. 

“Yes, the murderer of Grey lies confessed,” said 
Iredale quietly, “ and I think that his motives were 
even stronger than those attributed to-” 

Prudence placed a hand over his mouth before he 
could complete his sentence. 

They were startled from their horrified contempla¬ 
tion of the work of those last few moments by the 
sound of Hephzibah’s voice calling from her bed¬ 
room. The sitting-room door had been opened by 
Alice, who had entered the moment Iredale had 
released the handle. Now they could hear the farm- 
wife moving about overhead, evidently on her way 
down-stairs. 

Sarah was the first to recover her presence of mind. 
She turned upon Robb. 

“ Not a word to her about—about- ** 




340 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


Robb shook his head. 

Iredale snatched the pistol from the dead man’s 
hand. 

Mrs. Mailing’s footsteps came creaking down the 
stairs. Suddenly Prudence’s hands went up to her 
face as she thought of the shock awaiting her mother. 
Alice dragged her away to a chair. Iredale and 
Robb stood looking down at the two objects on 
the floor. Master and hound were lying side by 
side. 

Sarah ran to the door and met the farm-wife. She 
must never know that her son was a murderer— a 
double murderer. 

Those within the room heard the school-ma’am’s 
gentle tones. 

“ No, no, Hephzibah, you must not go in there yet. 
There are things—things which you must not see. 
The hound has killed him. Hervey enraged the dog, 
and the wretched beast turned upon him—and he is 
dead.” 

Then there came the sound of a scuffle. The next 
moment mother Hephzy pushed her way into the 
room. She looked about her wildly; one hand was 
clutching a bundle of hundred-dollar bills. Suddenly 
her round, staring eyes fell upon the two objects 
lying side by side upon the ground. She looked at 
the hound ; then she looked upon her son. Iredale 
had covered the torn throat with pocket-handker¬ 
chiefs. 

The bills slowly fell in a shower from her hand, 
and her arms folded themselves over her breast 
Then she looked in a dazed fashion upon those about 
her, muttering audibly. 


IN CONCLUSION 


341 


“He*s dead—he*s dead,” she repeated to herself 
over and over again. Then suddenly she ceased her 
repetitions and shook her head. “ Mussy-a-me, mussy- 
a-me ! The Lord’s will be done ! ” 

And she slowly fell in a heap by her dead son’s 
side. 


IN CONCLUSION 

Time, the great healer of all sufferings, all sorrows, 
can do much, but memory clings with a pertinacity 
which defies all Time’s best efforts. Time may 
soften the poignancy of deep-rooted sorrow, but it 
cannot shut out altogether the pain of a mother’s 
grief at the loss of an only son. In spite of all 
Hervey’s crimes he was “ the only son of his mother, 
and she was a widow.” The story of his villainies 
was rigidly kept from her, and so she thought of him 
only as a prodigal, as a boy to be pitied, as one whose 
offences must be condoned ; she sought for his good 
points, and, in her sweet motherly heart, saw a 
wonderful deal in him on which to centre her loving 
memory, which, had he lived, even she could never 
have discovered. It is something that erring man has 
to be humbly grateful for, that women are like this; 
so full of the patient, enduring love which can see no 
wrong in the object of their affections. 

But Loon Dyke Farm became intolerable to Heph- 
zibah Mailing after the ghastly tragedy of her son’s 
death; and when Robb and Alice saw fit to marry. 




342 THE HOUND FROM THE NORTH 


urged on to that risky experiment by the two older 
ladies, she insisted upon leasing the place to them on 
ridiculously easy terms. She would have given it to 
them only for their steady refusal to accept such a 
magnificent wedding gift from her. 

The old lady was rich enough for her needs and 
her daughter’s, and, business woman as she was, she 
was generous to a fault where her affections were con¬ 
cerned. Prudence too was satisfied with any arrange¬ 
ment which would take her away from the farm. 
Knowing what she knew of her brother. Loon Dyke 
could never again be her home. So mother and 
daughter retired to Ainsley, and only once again did 
they return to their old home on the briefest of visits, 
and that was to assist at the function of christening 
the son and heir of the Chillingwoods. 

Later on Prudence induced her mother to make 
Winnipeg her home, but though, for her daughter’s 
sake, she acceded to the request, she was never quite 
at ease among her new surroundings. Nor was Sarah 
Gurridge, when she visited her old friend during her 
holidays, slow to observe this. My dear,” she told 
Alice, one day after her summer vacation, “ Heph- 
zibah is failing fast. She’s quite old, although she is 
my junior by two years and three months. An idle 
life doesn’t suit her; and as for Prudence, she wears 
fine clothes, and goes out in society all day and most 
of the night, but she’s that thin and melancholy that 
you wouldn’t know her for the same child. It’s my 
opinion that she’s pining—they are both pining. I 
found a letter from Hamilton when I got back home. 
It was from George Iredale, and I’m going to answer 
it at once.’* 


IN CONCLUSION 


343 


“ And what are you going to say in your reply ? ” 
laughed Alice. “ I know your matchmaking pro¬ 
pensity. So does Robb.” 

The quiet, dreamy face of the old school-mistress 
smiled over at the happy mother. 

“ Say ? ” she exclaimed. “ Fm going to give 
George a piece of my mind for staying away so long. 
I know why he’s doing so, and my belief as to the 
cause of his absence is different from what Prudence 
is beginning to imagine. She thinks he has left her 
because of her brother’s doings, and it’s that that’s 
driving her to an early grave. I shall certainly tell 
George what I think.” And Sarah wagged her head 
sagely. 

And she was as good as her word. She had not 
seen fit to tell Alice that she had been in constant 
communication with George Iredale ever since the 
day of the tragedy, or that she was in his confidence 
as regarded Prudence. George had left the district 
to give both Prudence and her mother time to recover 
from the shock. And now that a year or more had 
passed away, he had written appealing to Sarah to 
tell him if she thought the time auspicious for his 
return. 

In a long, carefully-worded letter Sarah advised 
him not to delay. 

“ By dint of much perseverance,” she wrote, “ I have 
persuaded the child out of her absurd notions about 
the reflections her brother’s doings have cast upon 
her. She looks at things from a healthier standpoint 
now. Why should she not marry ? What has she 
done to debar her from fulfilling the mission which 
is appointed for every woman? Nothing! And 1 


344 the hound FROM THE NORTH 


am sure if a certain man should return and renew the 
appeal which he made at the time when the Lord’s 
anger was visited upon her brother, she would give 
him a different reply. However, I must not waste all 
my space upon the silly notions of a child with a 
misdirected conscience.” 

And how her letter bore fruit, and how George 
Iredale returned and sought Prudence in the midst 
of the distractions of Winnipeg’s social whirl, and 
how the girl’s answer, when again he appealed to her, 
turned out to be the one Sarah had prophesied for 
him, were matters of great satisfaction to the sage old 
school-mistress. 

She assisted at the wedding which followed, she 
saw the bride and bridegroom off at the railway dep6t, 
she remained to console her old friend for the loss of 
her daughter. Then she hied her off once more, back 
to the bleak, staring school-house, where she continued 
to propound sage maxims for the young of the dis¬ 
trict until her allotted task was done, and the tally 
of her years complete. 


THE END 


L. C. Page and Company's 
Announcement List 
of New Fiction 

The Bright Face of Danger. By Robert 

Neilson Stephens, author of “ Philip Winwood,” “ A Gentle¬ 
man Player,” “The Mystery of Murray Davenport,” etc. 

Illustrated by H. C. Edwards. 

Library i2mo, cloth decorative . . . . $1.50 

Stephens’s most stirring story tells of the adventures of 
Henri de Launay, son of De Launay de la Tournoire, made 
famous in “An Enemy to the King.” Mr. Stephens has done 
what Dumas did in “ Twenty Years After,” except that, 
unlike the great French novelist, he has written his best 
story last. Writing, as only he among modern romancers can 
write, of fair women and brave men, the gay life of the 
chateaux and the dangers of the road, hairbreadth escapes, 
thrilling rescues and gallant combat, Mr. Stephens has 
accomplished, without question, his masterpiece of romantic 
fiction. 

“ Mr. Stephens has fairly outdone himself. We thank him 
heartily. The story is nothing if not spirited and entertaining, 
rational and convincing. If there were more stories like it, the 
historical novel would be in no danger of falling into disrepute.” — 
Boston Transcript, 

“ Mr. Stephens has a liberal share of the intangible verve and 
charm of Dumas, and he is at his best in ‘The Bright Face of 
Danger.’ It is a gay, dashing, youthful tale of dangers dire and 
escapes gallantly won. The situations are combined in fresh and 
captivating style. Things are kept moving swiftly, and the d^noue- 
pient is effective.” — Chicago-Record Herald, 


2 


L. C. PAGE AND COMPANY'S 


The Prisoner of Mademoiselle. By Charles 

G. D. Roberts, author of “ The Kindred of the Wild,” 

“ Barbara Ladd,” “ The Heart of the Ancient Wood.” 

Library lamo, cloth, gilt top, with a frontispiece by 

Frank T. Merrill.$1.50 

In this charming tale Mr. Roberts has come back to the 
field of his first novels, —the land of Acadia. He tells a story 
which, although by no means a nature story, still has plenty of 
those vibrant nature-notes which have endeared his “ Barbara 
Ladd ” to its readers. Add to that scenes of tenseness 
and thrill which surpass those in “The Forge in the Forest,” 
and one can see that here is a romance worth the name. 

The Watchers of the Trails. By Charles G. 

D. Roberts, author of “ Barbara Ladd,” “ The Kindred of 

.the Wild,” etc. With illustrations by Charles Livingston 

Bull. 

Square i2mo, decorative cover .... $2.00 

This is a companion volume to “ The Kindred of the Wild,” 
and is another collection of Professor Roberts’s characteristic 
stories of nature and animal life, which stand alone in the 
world of fiction as absolutely sincere and truthful descriptions 
of existence in the untamed wilderness. They carry one far 
from the haunts of convention into the very depths of primeval 
forces, and present the savage instincts of the beasts of the 
forests and the elemental problems of living which attend 
those who live near to nature. 

The book is sure to meet the favor accorded its predecessor 
and companion, of which a few of the criticisms are: 

“ Professor Roberts has caught wonderfully the elusive individu¬ 
alities of which he writes. His animal stories are marvels of 
sympathetic science and literary exactness. Bound with the superb 
illustrations by Charles Livingston Bull, they make a volume which 
charms, entertains, and informs.” — A^ew York World. 

“ Is in many ways the most brilliant collection of animal stories 
that has appeared. Well named and well done.”— John Burroughs. 

“ No more perfect achievement of its kind has come from the hand 
of man.” — Chicago Tribune. 

“ Incomparably the best in literature that has grown up about 
animals.” — Brooklyn Eagle. 



LIST OF NEW FICTION 


3 


At Home with the Jardines. By Lilian Beii, 

author of “ Abroad with the Jimmies,” “ Hope Loring,” etc. 

Library i2mo, cloth decorative, illustrated . . $1.50 

Here we have the heroine of “ Abroad with the Jimmies ” 
(a book already established in the minds of readers as one of 
the author’s best) back to America, married, and trying to 
settle down. This book relates her experiences as a honey- 
mooner, a flat-dweller, a housekeeper, and a hostess. Among 
her guests — as well as counsellors and friends — are her (and 
the reader’s) old friends, the Jimmies, and her vivacious sister. 
Bee. These and a score of others — of whom the most promi¬ 
nent are Mary Jane, a new type of domestic, and “ The 
Angel” — make up a pleasing group of folk with whom to 
pass a genial hour or so. 

Of “ Abroad with the Jimmies,” the following are but a few 
of a great many favorable opinions : 

“ A deliciously fresh, graphic book. The writer is so original and 
unspoiled that her point of view has value.” — Mary Hariwell 
Catkerwood. 

“ Full of ozone, of snap, of ginger, of swing and momentum.” — 
Chicago Evening Post. 

“... Is one of her best and cleverest novels . . . filled to the 
brim with amusing incidents and experiences. This vivacious nar¬ 
rative needs no commendation to the readers of Miss Bell’s well- 
known earlier books. They will all read it, and they will enjoy it, 
and that is one of the safest prophecies we have made for some 
time.” — N. Y. Press. 

The Sign of Triumph, a Romance of theChil- 

dren’s Crusade. By Sheppard Stevens, author of “ I Am 

the King.” Illustrated by H. C. Edwards. 

Library i2mo, cloth decorative .... $1.50 

This is a romantic story, dealing with the incidents of the 
Children’s Crusade, and depicts the pathetic experiences of 
that army of infant martyrs to the cause of religion. Inter¬ 
woven with this account is a delightful romance. 

“ The author has utilized to unusual effect the picturesqueness and 
fanaticism of the Crusading children in a story filled with eager 
charm and stamped with stern truth.” — Boston Transcript. 



4 


Z. C. PAGE AND COMPANY'S 


The Green Diamond. By Arthur Morrison, au¬ 
thor of “ The Red Triangle,” etc. 

Library i2mo, cloth decorative, with six illustrations $1.50 

“ The Red Triangle ” proved to be one of the most popular 
of the year’s fiction. “ Better than ‘ Sherlock Holmes,’ ” 
“ Not to be laid down till the last word has been reached,” 
“ A first-class story of crime and mystery,” are a few of the 
observations made upon it. This new story promises to be 
of equal popularity. 

It deals with the adventures of a famous diamond, “ The 
Green Eye of Goona,” mysteriously stolen from an Indian 
rajah, and supposedly concealed in one of a dozen magnums 
of Tokay wine. An enterprising young Englishman, Harvey 
Crook, is the principal seeker for the diamond, and proves 
himself a worthy disciple of Martin Hewitt and Sherlock 
Holmes. 

Hemming, the Adventurer. By Theodore 

Roberts. With six illustrations by A. G. Learned. 

Library i2mo, cloth decorative .... $1.50 

The hero of this romance is a typical Englishman, straight¬ 
forward and manly, with all the charm and fascination of 
the cultivated man of the world. His adventures are well 
worth recording, and introduce many phases of life and many 
types of people. The atmosphere of the book is that of real 
life, — of things perfectly familiar to the author, of incidents 
'personally known and related in the spirit of remembrance. 

The Hound from the North. By Ridgweil 

Cullom, author of “ The Story of the Foss River Ranch.” 

Library i2mo, cloth decorative . . . . $1.50 

This is a story of adventure and mystery, starting in the 
famous Klondike region, then shifting to the “ great north¬ 
west ” of Canada. Gold escorts, government detectives, 
ranchmen, and smugglers all play their part, centring around 
“The Hound from the North,” an original and thrilling, if 
sinister, sketch of animal life. The heroine is sincere and 
womanly, and the hero a relief to those surfeited with the 
ordinary “ leading man ” of fiction. 



LIST OF NEW FICTION 


5 


An Evans of Suffolk. By Anna Farquhar, author 

of “ Her Boston Experiences,” “ Her Washington Experi¬ 
ences,” etc. 

Library 12mo, cloth decorative . . . . $1.50 

This is a powerful story of modern life. The principal 
character is a young woman who marries into a conservative 
Boston family without explaining her antecedents, and is 
obliged to exercise all her woman’s ingenuity to keep un¬ 
known the existence of her father, who is the “ black sheep ” 
of a distinguished English family. She gradually becomes 
involved in deception, which grows more and more difficult to 
maintain, and which threatens to finally overwhelm her. The 
plot is strong, and the telling is brilliant, while the book has 
much of the author’s gift of social satire, which was so cleverly 
displayed in “ Her Boston Experiences.” 

The Motor Pirate. By G. Sidney Paternoster. 

Library i2mo, cloth decorative, with frontispiece $1.50 

Mr. Paternoster, in his new book, “ The Motor Pirate,” has 
quite outdistanced all competitors. The story is a rattling 
good one. Told by a man who is a rich landowner and 
motor enthusiast, it rushes from incident to incident in an 
almost breathless fashion. There is a strong love interest in 
the book, and all the characters are well drawn. Turpin, in 
truth, has been out-Turpined by Mr. Paternoster, who must 
be congratulated on a most successful work of fiction. 

The Second Mrs. Jim. By Stephen Conrad. 

With a frontispiece by Ernest Fosbery. 

Large i6mo, cloth decorative . . . . $1.00 

Here is a character as original and witty as “ Mr. Dooley” 
or the “ self-made merchant.” The realm of humorous fiction 
is now invaded by the stepmother. 

A shrewd, middle-aged spinster marries a prosperous farmer 
with two boys, and makes them a model wife and mother. A 
clever climax is attained when she pulls the oldest boy out of 
love with the wrong girl and into love with the right one. 
Much quaint philosophy is mingled with extremely humorous 
sayings in dialect. The book will be read with many inward 
chuckles and outward laughs of appreciation. 



6 Z. C. PAGE AND COMPANY 


Azalim: A Romance of Old Judea. By Mark Ashton, 

author of “ She Stands Alone.” Illustrated with a colored 

frontispiece and eight reproductions from rare old plates. 

Library i2mo, cloth decorative . . . . $1.50 

This is the second of the author’s series of novels founded 
on Biblical history, and has Judea for its background, the 
infamous Jezebel for its central figure, and her intrigues and 
ambitions for its motif. It is full of interesting and exciting 
incidents with vivid descriptions of the life of the times. 

“ The story is clear-cut and straightforward, and we feel we are 
breathing the atmosphere of the period. It is brilliant with descrip¬ 
tions, has a wealth of interesting incidents, unique situations, and 
swift action.” — Boston Herald. 

Delightful Dodd. By Elliott Flower, author of “ The 

Spoilsmen,” etc. 

Library i2mo, cloth decorative, illustrated . . $1.50 

From the strenuous whirl of politics to the calm of the back- 
woods is indeed a far cry ; but Mr. Flower has shown himself 
as clever in depicting country life in the State of Michigan 
as in his trenchant portrayal of the doings of the Chicago 
wards. His principal character, a shrewd old fellow of much 
wit and ingenuity, is declared by those who have read the 
manuscript of the story, to “ give David Harum cards and 
spades.” 

Rachel Marr. By Morley Roberts, author of “ The 

Promotion of the Admiral,” etc. 

Library i2mo, cloth decorative . . . . $1.50 

In this novel Mr. Roberts has left the humors and tragedies 
of the sea for a new field. “ Rachel Marr ” is a romance full 
of that atmosphere and spirit wLich have made Thomas Hardy 
famous The book has met with not only popular success in 
England, where it has gone to a tenth impression, but with 
artistic success. The Daily Telegraph., London’s most con¬ 
servative literary sheet, says that ‘‘ This novel is one of the 
most significant productions of the times ; it is finely 
conceived.” 




Selections from 
L. C. Page and Company’s 
. List of Fiction 

\?ORKS OF 

ROBERT NHLSON STEPHENS 
Captain Ravenshaw; or, the maid of 

Cheapside. (40th thousand.) A romance of Elizabethan 
London. Illustrations by Howard Pyle and other artists. 
Library i2mo, cloth ...... $1.50 

Not since the absorbing adventures of D’Artagnan have we 
had anything so good in the blended vein of romance and 
comedy. The beggar student, the rich goldsmith, the roisterer 
and the rake, the fop and the maid, are all here : foremost 
among them Captain Ravenshaw himself, soldier of fortune 
and adventurer, who, after escapades of binding interest, 
finally wins a way to fame and to matrimony. 

Philip Winwood. (70th thousand) A Sketch of 
the Domestic History of an American Captain in the War of 
Independence, embracing events that occurred between and 
during the years 1763 and 1785 in New York and London 
Written by his Enemy in War, Herbert Russell, Lieutenant 
in the Loyalist Forces. Presented anew by Robert Neil- 
SON Stephens. Illustrated by E. W. D Hamilton. 

Library i2mo, cloth.^1.50 

“ One of the most stirring and remarkable romances that have 
been published in a long while, and its episodes, incidents, and 
actions are as interesting and agreeable as they are vivid and 
dramatic.” — Boston Times. 

The Mystery of Murray Davenport, (soth 

thousand.) By Robert Neilson Stephens, author of 
“ An Enemy to the King,” “ Philip Winwood,” etc. 
Library i2mo, cloth, with six full-page illustrations by H. C. 

Edwards.$1.50 

“This is easily the best thing that Mr. Stephens has yet done. 
Those familiar with his other novels can best judge the measure of 
this praise, which is generous.”— Buffalo News. 

“ Mr. Stephens won a host of friends through his earlier volumes, 
but we think he will do still better work in his new field if the 
present volume is a criterion.” — N. V. Com. Advertiser. 


a 


L. C. PAGE AND COMPANY'S 


An Enemy to the King. (6oth thousand.) From 

the “ Recently Discovered Memoirs of the Sieur de la 
Tournoire.” Illustrated by H. De M. Young. 

Library i2mo, cloth.$1.50 

An historical romance of the sixteenth century, describing 
the adventures of a young French nobleman at the Court of 
Henry III., and on the field with Henry of Navarre. 

“ A stirring tale.” — Detroit Free Press. 

“ A royally strong piece of fiction.”— Boston Ideas. 

“ Interesting from the first to the last page.” — Brooklyn Eagle. 

“ Brilliant as a play; it is equally brilliant as a romantic novel.” — 
Philadelphia Press. 

The Continental Dragoon: a romance of 

Philipse Manor House in 1778. (43d thousand.) Illus¬ 
trated by H. C. Edwards. 

Library 12mo, cloth.l?i.50 

A stirring romance of the Revolution, the scene being laid 
in and around the old Philipse Manor House, near Yonkers, 
which at the time of the story was the central point of the so- 
called “ neutral territory ” between the two armies. 

The Road to Paris: A Story of Adventure. 
(25th thousand.) Illustrated by H. C. Edwards. 

Library i2mo, cloth. 55 ^ 1.50 

An historical romance of the i8th century, being an account 
of the life of an American gentleman adventurer of Jacobite 
ancestry, whose family early settled in the colony of Pennsyl¬ 
vania. 

A Gentleman Player: his adventures on a 

Secret Mission for Queen Elizabeth. (38th thou¬ 
sand.) Illustrated by Frank T. Merrill. 

Library i2mo, cloth . . . . . . $1.50 

“A Gentleman Player” is a romance of the Elizabethan 
period. It relates the story of a young gentleman who, in the 
reign of Elizabeth, falls so low in his fortune that he joins 
Shakespeare’s company of players, and becomes a friend and 
protdgd of the great poet. 



LIST OF FICTION 


3 


WORKS OF 

CHARLES a D. ROBERTS 

Barbara Ladd. With four illustrations by Frank 
Verbeck. 

Library 12mo, gilt top.$1.50 

“ From the opening chapter to the final page Mr. Roberts lures 
us on by his rapt devotion to the changing aspects of Nature and 
by his keen and sympathetic analysis of human character.” — Boston 
Transcript. 


The Kindred of the Wild. A Book of Animal 

Life. With fifty-one full-page plates and many decorations 

from drawings by Charles Livingston Bull. 

Small quarto, decorative cover.$2.00 

“Professor Roberts has caught wonderfully the elusive individu¬ 
alities of which he writes. His animal stories are marvels of sym¬ 
pathetic science and literary exactness. Bound with the superb 
illustrations by Charles Livingston Bull, they make a volume which 
charms, entertains, and informs.” — New York World. 

“... Is in many ways the most brilliant collection of animal 
stories that has appeared . . . well named and well done.” — John 
Burroughs. 


The Forge in the Forest. Being the Narrative of 

the Acadian Ranger, Jean de Mer, Seigneur de Briart, and 
how he crossed the Black Abbd, and of his Adventures in a 
Strange Fellowship. Illustrated by Henry Sandham, R. C. A. 
Library i2mo, cloth, gilt top ..... $1.50 

A romance of the convulsive period of the struggle between 
the French and English for the possession of North Amer¬ 
ica. The story is one of pure love and heroic adventure, and 
deals with that fiery fringe of conflict that waved between 
Nova Scotia and New England. The Expulsion of the Aca- 
dians is foreshadowed in these brilliant pages, and the part of 
the “ Black Abbd’s” intrigues in precipitating that catastrophe 
is shown. 



4 


Z. C. PAGE AND COMPANY'S 


The Heart of the Ancient Wood, with 

six illustrations by James L. Weston. 

Library 12mo, decorative cover . . . . 

“ One of the most fascinating novels of recent days.” — Boston 
Journal. 

“ A classic twentieth-century romance.” — New York Commercial 
Advertiser. 

A Sister to Evangeline. Being the Story of 

Yvonne de Lamourie, and how she went into Exile with the 

Villagers of Grand Prd. 

Library i2mo, cloth, gilt top, illustrated . . J^i.50 

This is a romance of the great expulsion of the Acadians, 
which Longfellow first immortalized in “ Evangeline.” Swift 
action, fresh atmosphere, wholesome purity, deep passion, 
searching analysis, characterize this strong novel. 

By the Marshes of Minas. 

Library i2mo, cloth, gilt top, illustrated . . $1.50 

This is a volume of romance, of love and adventure in that 
picturesque period when Nova Scotia was passing from the 
French to the English rdgime. Each tale is independent of 
the others, but the scenes are similar, and in several of them the 
evil “ Black Abbd,” well known from the author’s previous 
novels, again appears with his savages at his heels—but to 
be thwarted always by woman’s wit or soldier’s courage. 

Earth’s Enigmas. A new edition, with the addi¬ 
tion of three new stories, and ten illustrations by Charles 

Livingston Bull. 

Library 12mo, cloth, uncut edges . . . . $1.50 

“Throughout the volume runs that subtle questioning of the 
cruel, predatory side of nature which suggests the general title of 
the book. In certain cases it is the picture of savage nature raven¬ 
ing for food — for death to preserve life ; in others it is the secret 
symbolism of woods and waters prophesying of evils and misadven¬ 
tures to come. All this does not mean, however, that Mr. Roberts 
is either pessimistic or morbid — it is nature in his books after all, 
wholesome in her cruel moods as in her tender.” — The New York 
Independent. 



LIST OF FICTION 


5 


WORKS OF 

LILIAN BELL 

Hop© Lorin^. illustrated by Frank T. Merrill. 

Library i2mo, cloth, decorative cover . . . $1.50 

“ Lilian Bell’s new novel, ‘ Hope Loring,’ does for the American 

girl in fiction what Gibson has done for her in art. 

“ Tall, slender, and athletic, fragile-looking, yet with nerves and 
sinews of steel under the velvet flesh, frank as a boy and tender and 
beautiful as a woman, free and independent, yet not bold — such is 
‘ Hope Loring,’ by long odds the subtlest study that has yet been 
made of the American girl.” — Dorothy Dix, in the New York 
American. 

Abroad with the Jimmies. With a portrait, in 

duogravure, of the author. 

Library i2mo, cloth, decorative cover . . . $1.50 

“ A deliciously fresh, graphic book. The writer is so original and 

unspoiled that her point of view has value.” — Mary Hartwell 
Catherwood. 

“ Full of ozone, of snap, of ginger, of swing and momentum.” — 
Chicago Evening Post. 

“... Is one of her best and cleverest novels . . . filled to the 
brim with amusing incidents and experiences. This vivacious narra¬ 
tive needs no commendation to the readers of Miss Bell’s well-known 
earlier books.”— N. Y. Press. 

The Interference of Patricia. With a frontis¬ 
piece from drawing by Frank T. Merrill. 

Small 12mo, cloth, decorative cover . . . $1.00 

“There is life and action and brilliancy and dash and cleverness 
and a keen appreciation of business ways in this story.” — Grand 
Rapids Herald. 

“ A story full of keen and flashing satire.” — Chicago Record- 
Herald. 

A Book of Girls. With a frontispiece. 

Small i2mo, cloth, decorative cover . . . $i 00 

“ The stories are ail eventful and have effective humor.” — New 
York Sun. 

“ Lilian Bell surely understands girls, for she depicts all the varia¬ 
tions of girl nature so charmingly.” — Chicago Journal. 

The above two volumes boxed in special holiday dress, per set, $ 2 .jo. 



6 


L. C. PAGE AND COMPANY'S 


The Red Triangle. Being some further chronicles of 
Martin Hewitt, investigator. By Arthur Morrison, author 
of “ The Hole in the Wall,” “ Tales of Mean Streets,” etc. 
Library 12mo, cloth decorative . . , . $150 

This is a genuine, straightforward detective story of the 
kind that keeps the reader on the qui vive. Martin Hewitt, 
investigator, might well have studied his methods from Sher¬ 
lock Holmes, so searching and successful are they. 

“ Better than Sherlock Holmes.”— New York Tribune. 

“The reader who has a grain of fancy or imagination may be 
defied to lay this book down, once he has begun it, until the last 
word has been reached.” — Philadelphia North American. 

“ If you like a good detective story you will enjoy this.” — Brook¬ 
lyn Eagle. 

“We have found ‘ The Red Triangle' a book of absorbing inter¬ 
est.” — Rochester Herald. 

“ Will be eagerly read by every one who likes a tale of mystery.” 

— The Scotsman, England. 

Prince Hagen. By Upton Sinclair, author of “ King 
Midas,” etc. 

Library i2mo, cloth decorative . . . . $1.50 

In this book Mr. Sinclair has written a satire of the first 
order — one worthy to be compared with Swift’s biting tirades 
against the follies and abuses of mankind. 

“A telling satire on politics and society in modern New York.” 

— Philadelphia Public Ledger. 

“ The book has a living vitality and is a strong depiction of 
political New York.” — Bookseller, Newsdealer, and Stationer. 

The Silent Maid. By Frederic W. Pangborn. 
Large i6mo, cloth decorative, with a frontispiece by Frank 

T. Merrill.. . . $i 00 

A dainty and delicate legend of the brave days of old, of 
sprites and pixies, of trolls and gnomes, of ruthless barons and 
noble knights. “ The Silent Maid ” herself, with her strange 
bewitchment and wondrous song, is equalled only by Undine 
in charm and mystery. 

“ Seldom does one find a short tale so idyllic in tone and so fanci¬ 
ful in motive. The book shows great delicacy of imagination.” — 
The Criterion. 




LIST OF FICTION 


7 


The Spoilsmen. By Elliott flower, author of 
“ Policeman Flynn,” etc. 

Library i2mo, cloth.$i-5o 

“The best one may hear of ‘The Spoilsmen' will be none too 
good. As a wide-awake, snappy, brilliant political story it has few 
equals, its title-page being stamped with that elusive mark, ‘ success.’ 
One should not miss a w'ord of a book like this at a time like this 
and in a world of politics like this.” — Boston Transcript. 

“ Elliott Flower, whose ‘ Policeman Flynn ’ attested his acquaint¬ 
ance with certain characteristic aspects of the American city, has 
written a novel of municipal politics, which should interest many 
readers. . . . The characters are obviously suggested by certain 
actual figures in local politics, and while the conditions he depicts 
are general in large cities in the United States, they will be unusually 
familiar to local readers. . . . Ned Bell, the ‘ Old Man,’ or political 
boss; Billy Ryan, his lieutenant; ‘Rainbow John,’ the alderman, 
are likely to be identified. . . . and other personages of the story 
are traceable to their prototypes.” — Chicago Evening Post. 

Stephen Holton. By Charles Felton Pidgin, 
author of “Quincy Adams Sawyer,” “ Blennerhassett,” etc 
The frontispiece is a portrait of the hero by Frank T. 
Merrill. 

One vol., library i2mo, cloth, gilt top . . . $i 50 

“In the delineation of rural life, the author shows that intimate 
sympathy which distinguished his first success, ‘ Quincy Adams 
Sawyer.’ ”— Boston Daily Advertiser. 

“ ‘ Stephen Holton ’ stands as his best achievement.” — Detroit 
Free Press. 

“ New England’s common life seems a favorite material for this 
sterling author, who in this particular instance mixes his colors with 
masterly skill.” — Boston Globe. 


Asa Holmes; or, At the Cross-Roads. a sketch 
of Country Life and Country Humor. By Annie Fellows 
Johnston. With a frontispiece by Ernest Fosbery. 

Large i6mo, cloth, gilt top.$1.00 

“‘Asa Holmes; or. At the Cross-Roads ’ is the most delightful, 
most sympathetic and wholesome book that has been published in a 
long while. The lovable, cheerful, touching incidents, the descrip¬ 
tions of persons and things are wonderfully true to nature.” — 
Boston Times, 



8 


L. C. PAGE AND COMPANY'S 


A Daughter of Thespis. By John d. barry, 

author of “ The Intriguers,” “ Mademoiselle Blanche,” etc. 

Library i2mo, cloth decorative . . . . $1.50 

“ I should say that ‘ A Daughter of Thespis ’ seemed so honest 
about actors and acting that it made you feel as if the stage had 
never been truly written about before.” — W. D. Howells^ in 
Harper's Weekly. 

“ This story of the experiences of Evelyn Johnson, actress, may 
be praised just because it is so true and so wholly free from melo¬ 
drama and the claptrap which we have come to think inseparable 
from any narrative which has to do with theatrical experiences.” — 
Professor Harry Thurston Peck^ of Columbia University. 

“ Certainly written from a close and shrewd observation of stage 
life.” — Chicago Record-Her aid. 

The Qolden Dog: A Romance of Quebec. By 

William Kirby. New authorized edition, printed from new 

plates. Illustrated by J. W Kennedy. 

One vol., library i2mo, cloth . . . . $1.25 

“A powerful romance of love, intrigue, and adventure in the 
times of Louis XV. and Madame de Pompadour, when the French 
colonies were making their great struggle to retain for an ungrateful 
court the fairest jewels in the colonial diadem of France. It is a 
most masterly picture of the cruelties and the jealousies 9f a maiden, 
Angelique des Melloises — fair as an angel and murderous as Medea. 
Mr. Kirby has shown how false prides and ambitions stalked abroad 
at this time, how they entered the heart of man to work his destruc¬ 
tion, and particularly how they influenced a beautiful demon in 
female form to continued vengeances.” — Boston Herald. 

The Last Word. By Alice MacGowan. Illus¬ 
trated with seven portraits of the heroine. 

Library i2mo, cloth, gilt top .... $1.50 

“ When one receives full measure to overflowing of delight in a 
tender, charming, and wholly fascinating new piece of fiction, the 
enthusiasm is apt to come uppermost. Miss MacGowan has been 
known before, but her best gift has here declared itself.” — Louisville 
Post. 

“ The story begins and ends in Western Texas. Between chapters, 
there is the ostensible autobiography of a girl who makes her w’ay 
in New York journalism. Out of it all comes a book, vivid, bright, 
original — one of a kind and the kind most welcome to readers of 
the hitherto conventional.” — New York World. 



LIST OF FICTION 


9 


The Captain’s Wife. By W. Clark Russell, 

author of “ The Wreck of the Grosvenor.” With a frontis¬ 
piece by C. H, Dunton. 

Library izmo, cloth decorative . . . . $1.50 

“ Mr. Russell’s descriptions of the sea are vivid and full of color, 
and he brings home to the reader the feeling that he is looking 
upon the real thing drawn by one who has seen the scenes and 
writes from knowledge.” — Brooklyn Eagle. 

“ Every page is readable and exciting.” — Baltimore Herald. 

“ This story may be considered as one of the best of his excellent 
tales of the sea.” — Chicago Post. 

“ There are suggestions of Marryat in it, and reminders of Charles 
Reade, but mostly it is Clark Russell, with his delightful descriptions 
and irresistible sea yarns.” — Phila. North American. 

The Mate of the Good Ship York. By w. 

Clark Russell, author of “ The Wreck of the Grosvenor,” 
etc. With a frontispiece by C. H. Dunton. 

Library i2mo, cloth decorative . . . . 1^1.50 

“ One of the breeziest, most absorbing books that have come to 
our table is W. Clark Russell’s ‘ The Mate of the Good Ship 
York.’ ” — Buffalo Commercial. 

“For a rousing, absorbing, and, withal, a truthful tale of the sea, 
commend me to VV. Clark Russell. His novel,‘The Mate of the 
Good Ship York,’ is one of the best, and the love romance that runs 
through it will be appreciated by every one.” — Philadelphia North 
American. 

“ Romantic adventures, hairbreadth escapes, and astounding 
achievements keep things spinning at a lively rate and hold the 
reader’s attention throughout the breezy narrative.” — Toledo Blade. 

The Golden Kingdom. By Andrew Balfour, 
author of “Vengeance Is Mine,” “ To Arms ! ” etc. 

Library i2mo, cloth decorative . . . . $i-5o 

This is a story of adventure on land and sea, beginning in 
England and ending in South Africa, in the last days of the 
seventeenth century. The scheme of the tale at once puts 
the reader in mind of Stevenson’s “ Treasure Island.” 

“ Every one imbued with the spirit of adventure and with a broad 
imaginative faculty will want to read this tale.” — Boston Transcript. 

“ ‘ The Golden Kingdom ’ is the rarest adventure book of them 
all.” —iV: Y, World. 



10 


Z. C. PAGE AND COMPANY'S 


The Schemers: A Tale of Modern Life. 

By Edward F. Harkins, author of “ Little Pilgrimages 

Among the Men Who Have Written Famous Books,” etc. 

With a frontispiece by Ernest Fosbery. 

Library i2mo, cloth . . . . . . 1 1.50 

A story of a new and real phase of social life in Boston, 
skilfully and daringly handled. There is plenty of life and 
color abounding, and a diversity of characters — shop-girls, 
society belles, men about town, city politicians, and others. 
The various schemers and their schemes will be followed with 
interest, and there will be some discerning readers who may 
claim to recognize in certain points of the story certain hap¬ 
penings in the shopping and the society circles of the Hub. 

“ A faithful delineation of real shop-girl life.” — Milwaukee 
Sentinel. 

“ This comes nearer to the actual life of a modern American city, 
with all its complexities, than any other work of American fiction. 
The book shows an unusual power of observation and a still more 
unusual power to concentrate and interpret what is observed.” 
St. Loins Star. 

The Promotion of The Admiral. By 

Morley Roberts, author of “ The Colossus,” “ The Fugi¬ 
tives,” “ Sons of Empire,” etc. 

Library i2mo, cloth decorative, illustrated . . $i 50 

This volume contains half a dozen stories of sea life,— 
fresh, racy, and bracing, — all laid in America, — stories full 
of rollicking, jolly, sea-dog humor, tempered to the keen edge of 
wit. 

“ If any one writes better sea stories than Mr. Roberts, we don’t 
know who it is; and if there is a better sea story of its kind than 
this it would be a joy to have the pleasure of reading it.” — New 
York Sun. 

“ To read these stories is a tonic for the mind; the stories are 
gems, and for pith and vigor of description they are unequalled.” — 
New York Commercial Advertiser. 

“There is a hearty laugh in every one of these stories.”— The 
Reader. 

“ Mr. Roberts treats the life of the sea in a way that is intensely 
real and intensely human.” — Milwaukee Sentinel. 

“ The author knows his sea men from A to Z.” — Philadelphia 
North American. 



LIST OF FICTION 


11 


Count Zarka. By Sm william Magnay, author of 
“ The Red Chancellor.” 

Library 12mo, cloth, decorative cover, with a striking frontis¬ 
piece .$1-50 

“ Count Zarka ” is a strong, quick-moving romance of ad¬ 
venture and political intrigue, the scene being laid in a fictitious 
kingdom of central Europe. 

“ Written with great cleverness.”— New York World. 

“ Bright, vivacious, and full of action.” — Louisville Courier- 
Journal. 

“ There is a strange fascination about this tale.” — Bookseller, 
Newsdealer, and Stationer. 

The Story of the Foss River Ranchi By 

Ridgwell Cullom. 

Library 12mo, cloth, decorative cover . . . $1.50 

The scene of this story is laid in Canada, not in one of the 
great cities, but in that undeveloped section of the great 
Northwest where to-day scenes are being enacted similar to 
those enacted fifty years ago during the settlement of the great 
American West 

“The tale is powerful and unusual.” — Brooklyn Eagle. 

“ The body of the story is rounded with plenty of incident and 
strong character drawing.” — New York World. 

The Golden Dwarf. By r. norman silver, 

author of “ A Daughter of Mystery,” etc. 

Library 12mo, cloth, decorative cover, illustrated . $1.50 

“ One of the brightest and most original detective stories of the 
year.” — Brooklyn Eagle. 

“ A first-class mystery story.” — Philadelphia Press. 

Alain Tanger’s Wife. By j. h. yoxall, author 

of “ The Rommany Stone,” etc. 

Library i2mo, cloth, decorative cover . . . 

A spirited story of political intrigue in France. A well- 
known figure in the military history of France plays a prom¬ 
inent part in the plot — but the central figure is that of the 
American heroine — loyal, intense, piquant, and compelling. 




12 


Z. C. PAGE AND COMPANY 


The Daughter of the Dawn. By r. hodder. 

With 12 full-page illustrations by Harold Piffard. 

Library i2mo, cloth, decorative cover . . . $i.$o 

This is a powerful story of adventure and mystery, its scene 
New Zealand. In sustained interest and novel plot, it recalls 
Rider Haggard’s “ King Solomon’s Mines ” and “ She.” 

“ Enthralling from beginning to end.” — Philadelphia North 
American. 

“ It will appeal to all who enjoy the imaginative order of fiction.” 

— Outlook. 

“ So elaborately and ingeniously drawn out that it is easier to 
believe it than to find a flaw in its verisimilitude.” — Boston Tran¬ 
script. 

The Diary of a Year. Passages in the Life of 
A Woman of the World. Edited by Mrs. Charles H. 

E. Brookfield. 

Library i2mo, cloth, decorative cover . . . $1.25 

The writer of this absorbing study of emotions and events 
is gifted with charming imagination and an elegant style. The 
book abounds in brilliant wit, amiable philosophy, and interest¬ 
ing characterizations. The “ woman of the world ” reveals 
herself as a fascinating, if somewhat reckless, creature, who 
justly holds the sympathies of the reader. 

Jarvis of Harvard. By Reginald Wright 
Kauffmann. Illustrated by Robert Edwards. 

Library i2mo, cloth decorative . . . . $1.^0 

A strong and well-written novel, true to a certain side of the '' 
college atmosphere, not only in the details of athletic life, but 
in the spirit of college social and society circles. The local 
color appeals not only to Harvard men, but to their rivals, the 
loyal sons of Yale, Pennsylvania, and Princeton. 

Lauriel. the love letters of an American Girl. 
By Herbert D. Ward. 

With a portrait frontispiece in photogravure. 

Library i2mo, cloth, gilt top.$1.50 

“The sincere and unaffected charm of these letters from the pen 
of a genuine American girl cannot fail to give them an influence 
which mere love-letters could never exert.” — From a Letter to the 
Publishers. 



• • 


\ \ 


i'*., *' 


■,\ * t . " »■ 




S ' 


• .r a*: 


t ■ 
) 


V. 


' ?7r>'. A .“iVvvj 2 


4 




« 
















































































































































































